Part 17 (1/2)

VALENTINE. If Miss Phoebe suffered him to do that she thought he loved her.

PHOEBE. Yes, yes. (_She has to ask him the ten years old question._) Do you opinion that this makes her action in allowing it less reprehensible? It has been such a pain to her ever since.

VALENTINE. How like Miss Phoebe! (_Sternly._) But that man was a knave.

PHOEBE. No, he was a good man--only a little--inconsiderate. She knows now that he has even forgotten that he did it. I suppose men are like that?

VALENTINE. No, Miss Livvy, men are not like that. I am a very average man, but I thank G.o.d I am not like that.

PHOEBE. It was you.

VALENTINE (_after a pause_). Did Miss Phoebe say that?

PHOEBE. Yes.

VALENTINE. Then it is true.

(_He is very grave and quiet._)

PHOEBE. It was raining and her face was wet. You said you did it because her face was wet.

VALENTINE. I had quite forgotten.

PHOEBE. But she remembers, and how often do you think the shameful memory has made her face wet since? The face you love, Captain Brown, you were the first to give it pain. The tired eyes--how much less tired they might be if they had never known you. You who are torturing me with every word, what have you done to Miss Phoebe? You who think you can bring back the bloom to that faded garden, and all the pretty airs and graces that fluttered round it once like little birds before the nest is torn down--bring them back to her if you can, sir; it was you who took them away.

VALENTINE. I vow I shall do my best to bring them back. (MISS PHOEBE _shakes her head._) Miss Livvy, with your help----

PHOEBE. My help! I have not helped. I tried to spoil it all.

VALENTINE (_smiling_). To spoil it? You mean that you sought to flirt even with me. Ah, I knew you did. But that is nothing.

PHOEBE. Oh, sir, if you could overlook it.

VALENTINE. I do.

PHOEBE. And forget these hateful b.a.l.l.s.

VALENTINE. Hateful! Nay, I shall never call them that. They have done me too great a service. It was at the b.a.l.l.s that I fell in love with Miss Phoebe.

PHOEBE. What can you mean?

VALENTINE. She who was never at a ball! (_Checking himself humorously._) But I must not tell you, it might hurt you.

PHOEBE. Tell me.

VALENTINE (_gaily_). Then on your own head be the blame. It is you who have made me love her, Miss Livvy.

PHOEBE. Sir?

VALENTINE. Yes, it is odd, and yet very simple. You who so resembled her as she was! for an hour, ma'am, you bewitched me; yes, I confess it, but 'twas only for an hour. How like, I cried at first, but soon it was, how unlike. There was almost nothing she would have said that you said; you did so much that she would have scorned to do. But I must not say these things to you!