Produced by Al Haines
THE PLAYS OF J. M. BARRIE
QUALITY STREET
A COMEDY
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
NEW YORK ::::::::: 1923
COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY
J. M. BARRIE
Printed in the United States of America
_All rights reserved under the International Copyright Act.
Performance forbidden and right of representation reserved.
Application for the right of performing this play must be made to
Charles Frohman, Inc., Empire Theatre, New York._
_THE WORKS OF J. M. BARRIE._
_NOVELS, STORIES, AND SKETCHES._
_Uniform Edition._
AULD LIGHT IDYLLS, BETTER DEAD.
WHEN A MAN'S SINGLE.
A WINDOW IN THRUMS, AN EDINBURGH ELEVEN.
THE LITTLE MINISTER.
SENTIMENTAL TOMMY.
MY LADY NICOTINE, MARGARET OGILVY.
TOMMY AND GRIZEL.
THE LITTLE WHITE BIRD.
PETER AND WENDY.
_Also_
HALF HOURS, DER TAG.
ECHOES OF THE WAR.
_PLAYS._
_Uniform Edition._
DEAR BRUTUS
A KISS FOR CINDERELLA
ALICE SIT-BY-THE-FIRE.
WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS.
QUALITY STREET.
THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON.
ECHOES OF THE WAR.
_Containing_: The Old Lady Shows Her Medals--The New
Word--Barbara's Wedding--A Well-Remembered Voice.
HALF HOURS.
_Containing_: Pantaloon--The Twelve-Pound
Look--Rosalind--The Will.
_Others in Preparation._
_INDIVIDUAL EDITIONS._
PETER PAN IN KENSINGTON GARDENS.
Illustrated by ARTHUR RACKHAM.
PETER AND WENDY.
Illustrated by F. D. BEDFORD.
PETER PAN AND WENDY.
Illustrated by MISS ATTWELL.
TOMMY AND GRIZEL.
Illustrated by BERNARD PARTRIDGE.
MARGARET OGILVY.
*** For particulars concerning _The Thistle Edition_ of the Works of J.
M. BARRIE, sold only by subscription, send for circular.
NEW YORK: CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
ACT I
THE BLUE AND WHITE ROOM
_The scene is the blue and white room in the house of the Misses Susan
and Phoebe Throssel in Quality Street; and in this little country town
there is a satisfaction about living in Quality Street which even
religion cannot give. Through the bowed window at the back we have a
glimpse of the street. It is pleasantly broad and grass-grown, and is
linked to the outer world by one demure shop, whose door rings a bell
every time it opens and shuts. Thus by merely peeping, every one in
Quality Street can know at once who has been buying a Whimsy cake, and
usually why. This bell is the most familiar sound of Quality Street.
Now and again ladies pass in their pattens, a maid perhaps protecting
them with an umbrella, for flakes of snow are falling discreetly.
Gentlemen in the street are an event; but, see, just as we raise the
curtain, there goes the recruiting sergeant to remind us that we are in
the period of the Napoleonic wars. If he were to look in at the window
of the blue and white room all the ladies there assembled would draw
themselves up; they know him for a rude fellow who smiles at the
approach of maiden ladies and continues to smile after they have
passed. However, he lowers his head to-day so that they shall not see
him, his present design being converse with the Misses Throssel's maid._
_The room is one seldom profaned by the foot of man, and everything in
it is white or blue. Miss Phoebe is not present, but here are Miss
Susan, Miss Willoughby and her sister Miss Fanny, and Miss Henrietta
Turnbull. Miss Susan and Miss Willoughby, alas, already wear caps; but
all the four are dear ladies, so refined that we ought not to be
discussing them without a more formal introduction. There seems no
sufficient reason why we should choose Miss Phoebe as our heroine
rather than any one of the others, except, perhaps, that we like her
name best. But we gave her the name, so we must support our choice and
say that she is slightly the nicest, unless, indeed, Miss Susan is
nicer._
_Miss Fanny is reading aloud from a library book while the others sew
or knit. They are making garments for our brave soldiers now far away
fighting the Corsican Ogre._
MISS FANNY. '... And so the day passed and evening came, black,
mysterious, and ghost-like. The wind moaned unceasingly like a
shivering spirit, and the vegetation rustled uneasily as if something
weird and terrifying were about to happen. Suddenly out of the
darkness there emerged a _Man_.
(_She says the last word tremulously but without looking up. The
listeners knit more quickly._)
The unhappy Camilla was standing lost in reverie when, without pausing
to advertise her of his intentions, he took both her hands in his.
(_By this time the knitting has stopped, and all are listening as if
mesmerised._)
Slowly he gathered her in his arms----
(MISS SUSAN _gives an excited little cry._)
MISS FANNY. And rained hot, burning----'
MISS WILLOUGHBY. Sister!
MISS FANNY (_greedily_). 'On eyes, mouth----'
MISS WILLOUGHBY (_sternly_). Stop. Miss Susan, I am indeed surprised
you should bring such an amazing, indelicate tale from the library.
MISS SUSAN (_with a slight shudder_). I deeply regret, Miss
Willoughby---- (_Sees_ MISS FANNY _reading quickly to herself._) Oh,
Fanny! If you please, my dear.
(_Takes the book gently from her._)
MISS WILLOUGHBY. I thank you.
(_She knits severely._)
MISS FANNY (_a little rebel_). Miss Susan is looking at the end.
(MISS SUSAN _closes the book guiltily._)
MISS SUSAN (_apologetically_). Forgive my partiality for romance,
Mary. I fear 'tis the mark of an old maid.
MISS WILLOUGHBY. Susan, that word!
MISS SUSAN (_sweetly_). 'Tis what I am. And you also, Mary, my dear.
MISS FANNY (_defending her sister_). Miss Susan, I protest.
MISS WILLOUGHBY (_sternly truthful_). Nay, sister, 'tis true. We are
known everywhere now, Susan, you and I, as the old maids of Quality
Street. (_General discomfort._)
MISS SUSAN. I am happy Phoebe will not be an old maid.
MISS HENRIETTA (_wistfully_). Do you refer, Miss Susan, to V. B.?
(MISS SUSAN _smiles happily to herself._)
MISS SUSAN. Miss Phoebe of the ringlets as he has called her.
MISS FANNY. Other females besides Miss Phoebe have ringlets.
MISS SUSAN. But you and Miss Henrietta have to employ papers, my dear.
(_Proudly_) Phoebe, never.
MISS WILLOUGHBY (_in defence of_ FANNY). I do not approve of Miss
Phoebe at all.
MISS SUSAN (_flushing_). Mary, had Phoebe been dying you would have
called her an angel, but that is ever the way. 'Tis all jealousy to
the bride and good wishes to the corpse. (_Her guests rise, hurt._)
My love, I beg your pardon.
MISS WILLOUGHBY. With your permission, Miss Susan, I shall put on my
pattens.
(MISS SUSAN _gives permission almost haughtily, and the ladies retire
to the bedroom,_ MISS FANNY _remaining behind a moment to ask a
question._)
MISS FANNY. A bride? Miss Susan, do you mean that V. B. has declared?
MISS SUSAN. Fanny, I expect it hourly.
(MISS SUSAN, _left alone, is agitated by the terrible scene with_ MISS
WILLOUGHBY.)
(_Enter_ PHOEBE _in her bonnet, and we see at once that she really is
the nicest. She is so flushed with delightful news that she almost
forgets to take off her pattens before crossing the blue and white
room._)
MISS SUSAN. You seem strangely excited, Phoebe.
PHOEBE. Susan, I have met a certain individual.
MISS SUSAN. V. B.? (PHOEBE _nods several times, and her gleaming eyes
tell_ MISS SUSAN _as much as if they were a romance from the library._)
My dear, you are trembling.
PHOEBE (_bravely_). No--oh no.
MISS SUSAN. You put your hand to your heart.
PHOEBE. Did I?
MISS SUSAN (_in a whisper_). My love, has he offered?
PHOEBE (_appalled_). Oh, Susan.
(_Enter_ MISS WILLOUGHBY, _partly cloaked._)
MISS WILLOUGHBY. How do you do, Miss Phoebe. (_Portentously_) Susan,
I have no wish to alarm you, but I am of opinion that there is a man in
the house. I suddenly felt it while putting on my pattens.
MISS SUSAN. You mean--a follower--in the kitchen? (_She courageously
rings the bell, but her voice falters._) I am just a little afraid of
Patty.
(_Enter_ PATTY, _a buxom young woman, who loves her mistresses and
smiles at them, and knows how to terrorise them._)
Patty, I hope we may not hurt your feelings, but--
PATTY (_sternly_). Are you implicating, ma'am, that I have a follower?
MISS SUSAN. Oh no, Patty.
PATTY. So be it.
MISS SUSAN (_ashamed_). Patty, come back, (_Humbly_) I told a
falsehood just now; I am ashamed of myself.
PATTY (_severely_). As well you might be, ma'am.
PHOEBE (_so roused that she would look heroic if she did not spoil the
effect by wagging her finger at_ PATTY). How dare you. There is a man
in the kitchen. To the door with him.
PATTY. A glorious soldier to be so treated!
PHOEBE. The door.
PATTY. And if he refuses?
(_They looked perplexed._)
MISS SUSAN. Oh dear!
PHOEBE. If he refuses send him here to me.
(_Exit PATTY._)
MISS SUSAN. Lion-hearted Phoebe.
MISS WILLOUGHBY. A soldier? (_Nervously_) I wish it may not be that
impertinent recruiting sergeant. I passed him in the street to-day.
He closed one of his eyes at me and then quickly opened it. I knew
what he meant.
PHOEBE. He does not come.
MISS SUSAN. I think I hear their voices in dispute.
(_She is listening through the floor. They all stoop or go on their
knees to listen, and when they are in this position the_ RECRUITING
SERGEANT _enters unobserved. He chuckles aloud. In a moment_ PHOEBE
_is alone with him._)
SERGEANT (_with an Irish accent_). Your servant, ma'am.
PHOEBE (_advancing sternly on him_). Sir-- (_She is perplexed, as he
seems undismayed._) Sergeant-- (_She sees mud from his boots on the
carpet._) Oh! oh! (_Brushes carpet._) Sergeant, I am wishful to scold
you, but would you be so obliging as to stand on this paper while I do
it?
SERGEANT. With all the pleasure in life, ma'am.
PHOEBE (_forgetting to be angry_). Sergeant, have you killed people?
SERGEANT. Dozens, ma'am, dozens.
PHOEBE. How terrible. Oh, sir, I pray every night that the Lord in
His loving-kindness will root the enemy up. Is it true that the
Corsican Ogre eats babies?
SERGEANT. I have spoken with them as have seen him do it, ma'am.
PHOEBE. The Man of Sin. Have you ever seen a vivandiere, sir?
(_Wistfully_) I have sometimes wished there were vivandieres in the
British Army. (_For a moment she sees herself as one._) Oh, Sergeant,
a shudder goes through me when I see you in the streets enticing those
poor young men.
SERGEANT. If you were one of them, ma'am, and death or glory was the
call, you would take the shilling, ma'am.
PHOEBE. Oh, not for that.
SERGEANT. For King and Country, ma'am?
PHOEBE (_grandly_). Yes, yes, for that.
SERGEANT (_candidly_). Not that it is all fighting. The sack of
captured towns--the loot.
PHOEBE (_proudly_). An English soldier never sacks nor loots.
SERGEANT. No, ma'am. And then--the girls.
PHOEBE. What girls?
SERGEANT. In the towns that--that we don't sack.
PHOEBE. How they must hate the haughty conqueror.
SERGEANT. We are not so haughty as all that.
PHOEBE (_sadly_). I think I understand. I am afraid, Sergeant, you do
not tell those poor young men the noble things I thought you told them.
SERGEANT. Ma'am, I must e'en tell them what they are wishful to hear.
There ha' been five, ma'am, all this week, listening to me and then
showing me their heels, but by a grand stroke of luck I have them at
last.
PHOEBE. Luck?
(MISS SUSAN _opens door slightly and listens._)
SERGEANT. The luck, ma'am, is that a gentleman of the town has
enlisted. That gave them the push forward.
(MISS SUSAN _is excited._)
PHOEBE. A gentleman of this town enlisted? (_Eagerly_) Sergeant, who?
SERGEANT. Nay, ma'am, I think it be a secret as yet.
PHOEBE. But a gentleman! 'Tis the most amazing, exciting thing.
Sergeant, be so obliging.
SERGEANT. Nay, ma'am, I can't.
MISS SUSAN (_at door, carried away by excitement_). But you must, you
must!
SERGEANT (_turning to the door_). You see, ma'am--
(_The door is hurriedly closed._)
PHOEBE (_ashamed_). Sergeant, I have not been saying the things I
meant to say to you. Will you please excuse my turning you out of the
house somewhat violently.
SERGEANT. I am used to it, ma'am.
PHOEBE. I won't really hurt you.
SERGEANT. Thank you kindly, ma'am.
PHOEBE (_observing the bedroom door opening a little, and speaking in a
loud voice_). I protest, sir; we shall permit no followers in this
house. Should I discover you in my kitchen again I shall pitch you
out--neck and crop. Begone, sir.
(_The_ SERGEANT _retires affably. All the ladies except_ MISS
HENRIETTA _come out, admiring_ PHOEBE. _The_ WILLOUGHBYS _are attired
for their journey across the street._)
MISS WILLOUGHBY. Miss Phoebe, we could not but admire you.
(PHOEBE, _alas, knows that she is not admirable._)
PHOEBE. But the gentleman recruit?
MISS SUSAN. Perhaps they will know who he is at the woollen-drapers.
MISS FANNY. Let us inquire.
(_But before they go_ MISS WILLOUGHBY _has a duty to perform._)
MISS WILLOUGHBY. I wish to apologise. Miss Phoebe, you are a dear,
good girl. If I have made remarks about her ringlets, Susan, it was
jealousy. (PHOEBE _and_ MISS SUSAN _wish to embrace her, but she is
not in the mood for it._) Come, sister.
MISS FANNY (_the dear woman that she is_). Phoebe, dear, I wish you
very happy.
(_PHOEBE presses her hand._)
MISS HENRIETTA (_entering, and not to be outdone_). Miss Phoebe, I
give you joy.
(_The three ladies go, the two younger ones a little tearfully, and we
see them pass the window._)
PHOEBE (_pained_). Susan, you have been talking to them about V. B.
MISS SUSAN. I could not help it. (_Eagerly_) Now, Phoebe, what is it
you have to tell me?
PHOEBE (_in a low voice_). Dear, I think it is too holy to speak of.
MISS SUSAN. To your sister?
PHOEBE. Susan, as you know, I was sitting with an unhappy woman whose
husband has fallen in the war. When I came out of the cottage he was
passing.
MISS SUSAN. Yes?
PHOEBE. He offered me his escort. At first he was very silent--as he
has often been of late.
MISS SUSAN. _We_ know why.
PHOEBE. Please not to say that I know why. Suddenly he stopped and
swung his cane. You know how gallantly he swings his cane.
MISS SUSAN. Yes, indeed.
PHOEBE. He said: 'I have something I am wishful to tell you, Miss
Phoebe; perhaps you can guess what it is.'
MISS SUSAN. Go on!
PHOEBE. To say I could guess, sister, would have been unladylike. I
said: 'Please not to tell me in the public thoroughfare'; to which he
instantly replied: 'Then I shall call and tell you this afternoon.'
MISS SUSAN. Phoebe!
(_They are interrupted by the entrance of_ PATTY _with tea. They see
that she has brought three cups, and know that this is her impertinent
way of implying that mistresses, as well as maids, may have a
'follower.' When she has gone they smile at the daring of the woman,
and sit down to tea._)
PHOEBE. Susan, to think that it has all happened in a single year.
MISS SUSAN. Such a genteel competency as he can offer; such a
desirable establishment.
PHOEBE. I had no thought of that, dear. I was recalling our first
meeting at Mrs. Fotheringay's quadrille party.
MISS SUSAN. We had quite forgotten that our respected local physician
was growing elderly.
PHOEBE. Until he said: 'Allow me to present my new partner, Mr.
Valentine Brown.'
MISS SUSAN. Phoebe, do you remember how at the tea-table he
facetiously passed the cake-basket with nothing in it!
PHOEBE. He was so amusing from the first. I am thankful, Susan, that
I too have a sense of humour. I am exceedingly funny at times; am I
not, Susan?
MISS SUSAN. Yes, indeed. But he sees humour in the most unexpected
things. I say something so ordinary about loving, for instance, to
have everything either blue or white in this room, and I know not why
he laughs, but it makes me feel quite witty.
PHOEBE (_a little anxiously_). I hope he sees nothing odd or quaint
about us.
MISS SUSAN. My dear, I am sure he cannot.
PHOEBE. Susan, the picnics.
MISS SUSAN. Phoebe, the day when he first drank tea in this house.
PHOEBE. He invited himself.
MISS SUSAN. He merely laughed when I said it would cause such talk.
PHOEBE. He is absolutely fearless. Susan, he has smoked his pipe in
this room.
(_They are both a little scared._)
MISS SUSAN. Smoking is indeed a dreadful habit.
PHOEBE. But there is something so dashing about it.
MISS SUSAN (_with melancholy_). And now I am to be left alone.
PHOEBE. No.
MISS SUSAN. My dear, I could not leave this room. My lovely blue and
white room. It is my husband.
PHOEBE (_who has become agitated_). Susan, you must make my house your
home. I have something distressing to tell you.
MISS SUSAN. You alarm me.
PHOEBE. You know Mr. Brown advised us how to invest half of our money.
MISS SUSAN. I know it gives us eight per cent., though why it should
do so I cannot understand, but very obliging, I am sure.
PHOEBE. Susan, all that money is lost; I had the letter several days
ago.
MISS SUSAN. Lost?
PHOEBE. Something burst, dear, and then they absconded.
MISS SUSAN. But Mr. Brown--
PHOEBE. I have not advertised him of it yet, for he will think it was
his fault. But I shall tell him to-day.
MISS SUSAN. Phoebe, how much have we left?
PHOEBE. Only sixty pounds a year, so you see you must live with us,
dearest.
MISS SUSAN. But Mr. Brown--he----
PHOEBE (_grandly_). He is a man of means, and if he is not proud to
have my Susan I shall say at once: 'Mr. Brown--the door.'
(_She presses her cheek to_ MISS SUSAN'S.)
MISS SUSAN (_softly_). Phoebe, I have a wedding gift for you.
PHOEBE. Not yet?
MISS SUSAN. It has been ready for a long time. I began it when you
were not ten years old and I was a young woman. I meant it for myself,
Phoebe. I had hoped that he--his name was William--but I think I must
have been too unattractive, my love.
PHOEBE. Sweetest--dearest----
MISS SUSAN. I always associate it with a sprigged poplin I was wearing
that summer, with a breadth of coloured silk in it, being a naval
officer; but something happened, a Miss Cicely Pemberton, and they are
quite big boys now. So long ago, Phoebe--he was very tall, with brown
hair--it was most foolish of me, but I was always so fond of
sewing--with long straight legs and such a pleasant expression.
PHOEBE. Susan, what was it?
MISS SUSAN. It was a wedding-gown, my dear. Even plain women, Phoebe,
we can't help it; when we are young we have romantic ideas just as if
we were pretty. And so the wedding-gown was never used. Long before
it was finished I knew he would not offer, but I finished it, and then
I put it away. I have always hidden it from you, Phoebe, but of late I
have brought it out again, and altered it.
(_She goes to ottoman and unlocks it._)
PHOEBE. Susan, I could not wear it. (MISS SUSAN _brings the
wedding-gown._) Oh! how sweet, how beautiful!
MISS SUSAN. You will wear it, my love, won't you? And the tears it
was sewn with long ago will all turn into smiles on my Phoebe's
wedding-day.
(_They are tearfully happy when a knock is heard on the street door._)
PHOEBE. That knock.
MISS SUSAN. So dashing.
PHOEBE. So imperious. (_She is suddenly panic-stricken._) Susan, I
think he kissed me once.
MISS SUSAN (_startled_). You _think_?
PHOEBE. I know he did. That evening--a week ago, when he was squiring
me home from the concert. It was raining, and my face was wet; he said
that was why he did it.
MISS SUSAN. Because your face was wet?
PHOEBE. It does not seem a sufficient excuse now.
MISS SUSAN (_appalled_). O Phoebe, before he had offered.
PHOEBE (_in distress_). I fear me it was most unladylike.
(VALENTINE BROWN _is shown in. He is a frank, genial young man of
twenty-five who honestly admires the ladies, though he is amused by
their quaintness. He is modestly aware that it is in the blue and
white room alone that he is esteemed a wit._)
BROWN. Miss Susan, how do you do, ma'am? Nay, Miss Phoebe, though we
have met to-day already I insist on shaking hands with you again.
MISS SUSAN. Always so dashing.
(VALENTINE _laughs and the ladies exchange delighted smiles._)
VALENTINE (_to_ MISS SUSAN). And my other friends, I hope I find them
in health? The spinet, ma'am, seems quite herself to-day; I trust the
ottoman passed a good night?
MISS SUSAN (_beaming_). We are all quite well, sir.
VALENTINE. May I sit on this chair, Miss Phoebe? I know Miss Susan
likes me to break her chairs.
MISS SUSAN. Indeed, sir, I do not. Phoebe, how strange that he should
think so.
PHOEBE (_instantly_). The remark was humorous, was it not?
VALENTINE. How you see through me, Miss Phoebe.
(_The sisters again exchange delighted smiles_. VALENTINE _is about to
take a seat._)
MISS SUSAN (_thinking aloud_). Oh dear, I feel sure he is going to
roll the coverlet into a ball and then sit on it.
(VALENTINE, _who has been on the point of doing so, abstains and sits
guiltily._)
VALENTINE. So I am dashing, Miss Susan? Am I dashing, Miss Phoebe?
PHOEBE. A--little, I think.
VALENTINE. Well, but I have something to tell you to-day which I
really think is rather dashing. (MISS SUSAN _gathers her knitting,
looks at_ PHOEBE, _and is preparing to go._) You are not going, ma'am,
before you know what it is?
MISS SUSAN. I--I--indeed--to be sure--I--I know, Mr. Brown.
PHOEBE. Susan!
MISS SUSAN. I mean I do not know. I mean I can guess--I mean----
Phoebe, my love, explain. (_She goes out._)
VALENTINE (_rather disappointed_). The explanation being, I suppose,
that you both know, and I had flattered myself 'twas such a secret. Am
I then to understand that you had foreseen it all, Miss Phoebe?
PHOEBE. Nay, sir, you must not ask that.
VALENTINE. I believe in any case 'twas you who first put it into my
head.
PHOEBE (_aghast_). Oh, I hope not.
VALENTINE. Your demure eyes flashed so every time the war was
mentioned; the little Quaker suddenly looked like a gallant boy in
ringlets.
(_A dread comes over_ PHOEBE, _but it is in her heart alone; it shows
neither in face nor voice._)
PHOEBE. Mr. Brown, what is it you have to tell us?
VALENTINE. That I have enlisted, Miss Phoebe. Did you surmise it was
something else?
PHOEBE. You are going to the wars? Mr. Brown, is it a jest?
VALENTINE. It would be a sorry jest, ma'am. I thought you knew. I
concluded that the recruiting sergeant had talked.
PHOEBE. The recruiting sergeant? I see.
VALENTINE. These stirring times, Miss Phoebe--he is but half a man who
stays at home. I have chafed for months. I want to see whether I have
any courage, and as to be an army surgeon does not appeal to me, it was
enlist or remain behind. To-day I found that there were five waverers.
I asked them would they take the shilling if I took it, and they
assented. Miss Phoebe, it is not one man I give to the King, but six.
PHOEBE (_brightly_). I think you have done bravely.
VALENTINE. We leave shortly for the Petersburgh barracks, and I go to
London tomorrow; so this is good-bye.
PHOEBE. I shall pray that you may be preserved in battle, Mr. Brown.
VALENTINE. And you and Miss Susan will write to me when occasion
offers?
PHOEBE. If you wish it.
VALENTINE (_smiling_). With all the stirring news of Quality Street.
PHOEBE. It seems stirring to us; it must have been merely laughable to
you, who came here from a great city.
VALENTINE. Dear Quality Street--that thought me dashing! But I made
friends in it, Miss Phoebe, of two very sweet ladies.
PHOEBE (_timidly_). Mr. Brown, I wonder why you have been so kind to
my sister and me?
VALENTINE. The kindness was yours. If at first Miss Susan amused me--
(_Chuckling._) To see her on her knees decorating the little legs of
the couch with frills as if it were a child! But it was her sterling
qualities that impressed me presently.
PHOEBE. And did--did I amuse you also?
VALENTINE. Prodigiously, Miss Phoebe. Those other ladies, they were
always scolding you, your youthfulness shocked them. I believe they
thought you dashing.
PHOEBE (_nervously_). I have sometimes feared that I was perhaps too
dashing.
VALENTINE (_laughing at this_). You delicious Miss Phoebe. You were
too quiet. I felt sorry that one so sweet and young should live so
grey a life. I wondered whether I could put any little pleasures into
it.
PHOEBE. The picnics? It was very good of you.
VALENTINE. That was only how it began, for soon I knew that it was I
who got the pleasures and you who gave them. You have been to me, Miss
Phoebe, like a quiet, old-fashioned garden full of the flowers that
Englishmen love best because they have known them longest: the daisy,
that stands for innocence, and the hyacinth for constancy, and the
modest violet and the rose. When I am far away, ma'am, I shall often
think of Miss Phoebe's pretty soul, which is her garden, and shut my
eyes and walk in it.
(_She is smiling gallantly through her pain when_ MISS SUSAN _returns._)
MISS SUSAN. Have you--is it--you seem so calm, Phoebe.
PHOEBE (_pressing her sister's hand warningly and imploringly_).
Susan, what Mr. Brown is so obliging as to inform us of is not what we
expected--not that at all. My dear, he is the gentleman who has
enlisted, and he came to tell us that and to say good-bye.
MISS SUSAN. Going away?
PHOEBE. Yes, dear.
VALENTINE. Am I not the ideal recruit, ma'am: a man without a wife or
a mother or a sweetheart?
MISS SUSAN. No sweetheart?
VALENTINE. Have you one for me, Miss Susan?
PHOEBE (_hastily, lest her sister's face should betray the truth_).
Susan, we shall have to tell him now. You dreadful man, you will laugh
and say it is just like Quality Street. But indeed since I met you
to-day and you told me you had something to communicate we have been
puzzling what it could be, and we concluded that you were going to be
married.
VALENTINE. Ha! ha! ha! Was that it.
PHOEBE. So like women, you know. We thought we perhaps knew her.
(_Glancing at the wedding-gown._) We were even discussing what we
should wear at the wedding.
VALENTINE. Ha! ha! I shall often think of this. I wonder who would
have me, Miss Susan. (_Rising._) But I must be off; and God bless you
both.
MISS SUSAN (_forlorn_). You are going!
VALENTINE. No more mud on your carpet, Miss Susan; no more coverlets
rolled into balls. A good riddance. Miss Phoebe, a last look at the
garden.
(_Taking her hand and looking into her face._)
PHOEBE. We shall miss you very much, Mr. Brown.
VALENTINE. There is one little matter. That investment I advised you
to make, I am happy it has turned out so well.
PHOEBE (_checking_ MISS SUSAN, _who is about to tell of the loss of the
money_). It was good of you to take all that trouble, sir. Accept our
grateful thanks.
VALENTINE. Indeed I am glad that you are so comfortably left; I am
your big brother. Good-bye again. (_Looks round._) This little blue
and white room and its dear inmates, may they be unchanged when I come
back. Good-bye.
(_He goes_. MISS SUSAN _looks forlornly at_ PHOEBE, _who smiles
pitifully._)
PHOEBE. A misunderstanding; just a mistake. (_She shudders, lifts the
wedding-gown and puts it back in the ottoman_. MISS SUSAN _sinks
sobbing into a chair._) Don't, dear, don't--we can live it down.
MISS SUSAN (_fiercely_). He is a fiend in human form.
PHOEBE. Nay, you hurt me, sister. He is a brave gentleman.
MISS SUSAN. The money; why did you not let me tell him?
PHOEBE (_flushing_). So that he might offer to me out of pity, Susan?
MISS SUSAN. Phoebe, how are we to live with the quartern loaf at one
and tenpence?
PHOEBE. Brother James----
MISS SUSAN. You know very well that brother James will do nothing for
us.
PHOEBE. I think, Susan, we could keep a little school--for genteel
children only, of course. I would do most of the teaching.
MISS SUSAN. You a schoolmistress--Phoebe of the ringlets; every one
would laugh.
PHOEBE. I shall hide the ringlets away in a cap like yours, Susan, and
people will soon forget them. And I shall try to look staid and to
grow old quickly. It will not be so hard to me as you think, dear.
MISS SUSAN. There were other gentlemen who were attracted by you,
Phoebe, and you turned from them.
PHOEBE. I did not want them.
MISS SUSAN. They will come again, and others.
PHOEBE. No, dear; never speak of that to me any more. (_In woe._) I
let him kiss me.
MISS SUSAN. You could not prevent him.
PHOEBE. Yes, I could. I know I could now. I wanted him to do it.
Oh, never speak to me of others after that. Perhaps he saw I wanted it
and did it to please me. But I meant--indeed I did--that I gave it to
him with all my love. Sister, I could bear all the rest; but I have
been unladylike.
(_The curtain falls, and we do not see the sisters again for ten
years._)
_End of Act I._