Part 9 (1/2)

BLADES (_honestly distressed_). Oh no, ma'am, I vow--but I--I am such a quiz, ma'am.

MISS SUSAN. Sister!

PHOEBE. I am sorry, sir, to have to deprive you of some entertainment, but I am not going to the ball.

MISS SUSAN (_haughtily_). Ensign Blades, I bid you my adieux.

BLADES (_ashamed_). If I have hurt Miss Phoebe's feelings I beg to apologise.

MISS SUSAN. _If_ you have hurt them. Oh, sir, how is it possible for any one to be as silly as you seem to be.

BLADES (_who cannot find the answer_). Charlotte--explain.

(_But_ CHARLOTTE _considers that their visit has not been sufficiently esteemed and departs with a cold curtsy, taking him with her._)

(MISS SUSAN _turns sympathetically to_ PHOEBE, _but_ PHOEBE, _fighting with her pain, sits down at the spinet and plays at first excitedly a gay tune, then slowly, then comes to a stop with her head bowed. Soon she jumps up courageously, brushes away her distress, gets an algebra book from the desk and sits down to study it_. MISS SUSAN _is at the window, where ladies and gentlemen are now seen pa.s.sing in ball attire._)

MISS SUSAN. What book is it, Phoebe?

PHOEBE. It is an algebra.

MISS SUSAN. They are going by to the ball. (_In anger._) My Phoebe should be going to the ball, too.

PHOEBE. You jest, Susan. (MISS SUSAN _watches her read_. PHOEBE _has to wipe away a tear; soon she rises and gives way to the emotion she has been suppressing ever since the entrance of_ VALENTINE.) Susan, I hate him. Oh, Susan, I could hate him if it were not for his poor hand.

MISS SUSAN. My dear.

PHOEBE. He thought I was old, because I am weary, and he should not have forgotten. I am only thirty. Susan, why does thirty seem so much more than twenty-nine? (_As if_ VALENTINE _were present._) Oh, sir, how dare you look so pityingly at me? Because I have had to work so hard,--is it a crime when a woman works? Because I have tried to be courageous--have I been courageous, Susan?

MISS SUSAN. G.o.d knows you have.

PHOEBE. But it has given me the headache, it has tired my eyes. Alas, Miss Phoebe, all your charm has gone, for you have the headache, and your eyes are tired. He is dancing with Charlotte Parratt now, Susan.

'I vow, Miss Charlotte, you are selfish and silly, but you are sweet eighteen.' 'Oh la, Captain Brown, what a quiz you are.' That delights him, Susan; see how he waggles his silly head.

MISS SUSAN. Charlotte Parratt is a goose.

PHOEBE. 'Tis what gentlemen prefer. If there were a sufficient number of geese to go round, Susan, no woman of sense would ever get a husband. 'Charming Miss Charlotte, you are like a garden; Miss Phoebe was like a garden once, but 'tis a faded garden now.'

MISS SUSAN. If to be ladylike----

PHOEBE. Susan, I am tired of being ladylike. I am a young woman still, and to be ladylike is not enough. I wish to be bright and thoughtless and merry. It is every woman's birthright to be petted and admired; I wish to be petted and admired. Was I born to be confined within these four walls? Are they the world, Susan, or is there anything beyond them? I want to know. My eyes are tired because for ten years they have seen nothing but maps and desks. Ten years! Ten years ago I went to bed a young girl and I woke with this cap on my head. It is not fair. This is not me, Susan, this is some other person, I want to be myself.

MISS SUSAN. Phoebe, Phoebe, you who have always been so patient!

PHOEBE. Oh no, not always. If you only knew how I have rebelled at times, you would turn from me in horror. Susan, I have a picture of myself as I used to be; I sometimes look at it. I sometimes kiss it, and say, 'Poor girl, they have all forgotten you. But I remember.'

MISS SUSAN. I cannot recall it.

PHOEBE. I keep it locked away in my room. Would you like to see it?

I shall bring it down. My room! Oh, Susan, it is there that the Phoebe you think so patient has the hardest fight with herself, for there I have seemed to hear and see the Phoebe of whom this (_looking at herself_) is but an image in a distorted gla.s.s. I have heard her singing as if she thought she was still a girl. I have heard her weeping; perhaps it was only I who was weeping; but she seemed to cry to me, 'Let me out of this prison, give me back the years you have taken from me. Oh, where are my pretty curls?' she cried. 'Where is my youth, my youth.'