Quality Street Part 16

PHOEBE. I beg you.

VALENTINE. No. We must have it out.

PHOEBE. Then if you must go on, do so. But remember I begged you to desist. Who is this happy man?

(_His next words are a great shock to her._)

VALENTINE. As to who he is, ma'am, of course I have no notion. Nor, I am sure, have you, else you would be more guarded in your conduct. But some day, Miss Livvy, the right man will come. Not to be able to tell him all, would it not be hard? And how could you acquaint him with this poor sport? His face would change, ma'am, as you told him of it, and yours would be a false face until it was told. This is what I have been so desirous to say to you--by the right of a friend.

PHOEBE (_in a low voice but bravely_). I see.

VALENTINE (_afraid that he has hurt her_). It has been hard to say and I have done it bunglingly. Ah, but believe me, Miss Livvy, it is not the flaunting flower men love; it is the modest violet.

PHOEBE. The modest violet! _You_ dare to say that.

VALENTINE. Yes, indeed, and when you are acquaint with what love really is----

PHOEBE. Love! What do you know of love?

VALENTINE (_a little complacently_). Why, ma'am, I know all about it.

I am in love, Miss Livvy.

PHOEBE (_with a disdainful inclination of the head_). I wish you happy.

VALENTINE. With a lady who was once very like you, ma'am.

(_At first_ PHOEBE _does not understand, then a suspicion of his meaning comes to her._)

PHOEBE. Not--not--oh no.

VALENTINE. I had not meant to speak of it, but why should not I? It will be a fine lesson to you, Miss Livvy. Ma'am, it is your Aunt Phoebe whom I love.

PHOEBE (_rigid_). You do not mean that.

VALENTINE. Most ardently.

PHOEBE. It is not true; how dare you make sport of her.

VALENTINE. Is it sport to wish she may be my wife?

PHOEBE. Your wife!

VALENTINE. If I could win her.

PHOEBE (_bewildered_). May I solicit, sir, for how long you have been attached to Miss Phoebe?

VALENTINE. For nine years, I think.

PHOEBE. You think!

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.