MISS WILLOUGHBY. You have seen Miss Phoebe, sir? VALENTINE. I have had the honour. Miss Phoebe, I regret to say, is now lying down with the headache. (_The ladies are too delicately minded to exchange glances before a man, but they are privately of opinion that this meeting after ten years with the dazzling_ BROWN _has laid_ MISS PHOEBE _low. They are in a twitter of sympathy with her, and yearning to see_ MISS SUSAN _alone, so that they may draw from her an account of the exciting meeting._) You do not favour the ball to-night? MISS FANNY. I confess balls are distasteful to me. MISS HENRIETTA. 'Twill be a mixed assembly. I am credibly informed that the woollen draper's daughter has obtained a card. VALENTINE (_gravely_). Good God, ma'am, is it possible? MISS WILLOUGHBY. We shall probably spend the evening here with Miss Susan at the card table. VALENTINE. But Miss Susan goes with me to the ball, ma'am. (_This is scarcely less exciting to them than the overthrow of the Corsican._) VALENTINE. Nay, I hope there be no impropriety. Miss Livvy will accompany her. MISS WILLOUGHBY (_bewildered_). Miss Livvy? VALENTINE. Their charming niece. (_The ladies repeat the word in a daze._) MISS FANNY. They had not apprised us that they have a visitor. (_They think this reticence unfriendly, and are wondering whether they ought not to retire hurt, when_ MISS SUSAN _enters in her bombazine, wraps, and bonnet. She starts at sight of them, and has the bearing of a guilty person._) MISS WILLOUGHBY (_stiffly_). We have but now been advertised of your intention for this evening, Susan. MISS HENRIETTA. We deeply regret our intrusion. MISS SUSAN (_wistfully_). Please not to be piqued, Mary. 'Twas so--sudden. MISS WILLOUGHBY. I cannot remember, Susan, that your estimable brother had a daughter. I thought all the three were sons. MISS SUSAN (_with deplorable readiness_). Three sons and a daughter. Surely you remember little Livvy, Mary? MISS WILLOUGHBY (_bluntly_). No, Susan, I do not. MISS SUSAN. I--I must go. I hear Livvy calling. MISS FANNY (_tartly_). I hear nothing but the band. We are not to see your niece? MISS SUSAN. Another time--to-morrow. Pray rest a little before you depart, Mary. I--I--Phoebe Livvy--the headache---- (_But before she can go another lady enters gaily._) VALENTINE. Ah, here is Miss Livvy. (_The true culprit is more cunning than_ MISS SUSAN, _and before they can see her she quickly pulls the strings of her bonnet, which is like_ MISS HENRIETTA'S, _and it obscures her face._) MISS SUSAN. This--this is my niece, Livvy--Miss Willoughby, Miss Henrietta, Miss Fanny Willoughby. VALENTINE. Ladies, excuse my impatience, but-- MISS WILLOUGHBY. One moment, sir. May I ask, Miss Livvy, how many brothers you have. PHOEBE. Two. MISS WILLOUGHBY. I thank you. (_She looks strangely at_ MISS SUSAN, _and_ MISS PHOEBE _knows that she has blundered._)