Part 18 (1/2)

PHOEBE. That paragon who has never been guilty of the slightest deviation from the strictest propriety.

VALENTINE. Never.

PHOEBE. That garden----

VALENTINE. Miss Livvy, for shame.

PHOEBE. Your garden has been destroyed, sir; the weeds have entered it, and all the flowers are choked.

VALENTINE. You false woman, what do you mean?

PHOEBE. I will tell you. (_But his confidence awes her._) What faith you have in her.

VALENTINE. As in my G.o.d. Speak.

PHOEBE. I cannot tell you.

VALENTINE. No, you cannot.

PHOEBE. It is too horrible.

VALENTINE. You are too horrible. Is not that it?

PHOEBE. Yes, that is it.

(MISS SUSAN _has entered and caught the last words._)

MISS SUSAN (_shrinking as from a coming blow_). What is too horrible?

VALENTINE. Ma'am, I leave the telling of it to her, if she dare. And I devoutly hope those are the last words I shall ever address to this lady.

(_He bows and goes out in dudgeon_. MISS SUSAN _believes all is discovered and that_ MISS PHOEBE _is for ever shamed._)

MISS SUSAN (_taking_ PHOEBE _in her arms_). My love, my dear, what terrible thing has he said to you?

PHOEBE (_forgetting everything but that she is loved_). Not terrible--glorious! Susan, 'tis Phoebe he loves, 'tis me, not Livvy!

He loves me, he loves me! Me--Phoebe!

(MISS SUSAN'S _bosom swells. It is her great hour as much as_ PHOEBE'S.)

_End of Act III._

ACT IV

THE BLUE AND WHITE ROOM

_If we could shut our eyes to the two sisters sitting here in woe, this would be, to the male eye at least, the identical blue and white room of ten years ago; the same sun s.h.i.+ning into it and playing familiarly with Miss Susan's treasures. But the ladies are changed. It is not merely that Miss Phoebe has again donned her schoolmistress's gown and hidden her curls under the cap. To see her thus once more, her real self, after the escapade of the ball, is not unpleasant, and the cap and gown do not ill become the quiet room. But she now turns guiltily from the sun that used to be her intimate, her face is drawn, her form condensed into the smallest s.p.a.ce, and her hands lie trembling in her lap. It is disquieting to note that any life there is in the room comes not from her but from Miss Susan. If the house were to go on fire now it would be she who would have to carry out Miss Phoebe._