Part 16 (2/2)

VALENTINE. I want to be honest. Never in all that time had I thought myself in love. Your aunts were my dear friends, and while I was at the wars we sometimes wrote to each other, but they were only friendly letters. I presume the affection was too placid to be love.

PHOEBE. I think that would be Aunt Phoebe's opinion.

VALENTINE. Yet I remember, before we went into action for the first time--I suppose the fear of death was upon me--some of them were making their wills--I have no near relative--I left everything to these two ladies.

PHOEBE (_softly_). Did you?

(_What is it that_ MISS PHOEBE _begins to see as she sits there so quietly, with her hands pressed together as if upon some treasure? It is_ PHOEBE _of the ringlets with the stain taken out of her._)

VALENTINE. And when I returned a week ago and saw Miss Phoebe, grown so tired-looking and so poor----

PHOEBE. The shock made you feel old, I know.

VALENTINE. No, Miss Livvy, but it filled me with a sudden pa.s.sionate regret that I had not gone down in that first engagement. They would have been very comfortably left.

PHOEBE. Oh, sir!

VALENTINE. I am not calling it love.

PHOEBE. It was sweet and kind, but it was not love.

VALENTINE. It is love now.

PHOEBE. No, it is only pity.

VALENTINE. It is love.

PHOEBE (_she smiles tremulously_). You really mean Phoebe--tired, unattractive Phoebe, that woman whose girlhood is gone. Nay, impossible.

VALENTINE (_stoutly_). Phoebe of the fascinating playful ways, whose ringlets were once as pretty as yours, ma'am. I have visited her in her home several times this week--you were always out--I thank you for that! I was alone with her, and with fragrant memories of her.

PHOEBE. Memories! Yes, that is the Phoebe you love, the bright girl of the past--not the schoolmistress in her old-maid's cap.

VALENTINE. There you wrong me, for I have discovered for myself that the schoolmistress in her old-maid's cap is the n.o.blest Miss Phoebe of them all. (_If only he would go away, and let_ MISS PHOEBE _cry._) When I enlisted, I remember I compared her to a garden. I have often thought of that.

PHOEBE. 'Tis an old garden now.

VALENTINE. The paths, ma'am, are better shaded.

PHOEBE. The flowers have grown old-fas.h.i.+oned.

VALENTINE. They smell the sweeter. Miss Livvy, do you think there is any hope for me?

PHOEBE. There was a man whom Miss Phoebe loved--long ago. He did not love her.

VALENTINE. Now here was a fool!

PHOEBE. He kissed her once.

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