(_No, she does not wish him to proceed. She had esteemed him for so long, she cannot have him debase himself before her now._) PHOEBE. Shall we--I have changed my mind, I consent to go home. Please to say nothing. VALENTINE. Nay---- 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?