PHOEBE. But she remembers, and how often do you think the shameful memory has made her face wet since? The face you love, Captain Brown, you were the first to give it pain. The tired eyes--how much less tired they might be if they had never known you. You who are torturing me with every word, what have you done to Miss Phoebe? You who think you can bring back the bloom to that faded garden, and all the pretty airs and graces that fluttered round it once like little birds before the nest is torn down--bring them back to her if you can, sir; it was you who took them away. VALENTINE. I vow I shall do my best to bring them back. (MISS PHOEBE _shakes her head._) Miss Livvy, with your help---- PHOEBE. My help! I have not helped. I tried to spoil it all. VALENTINE (_smiling_). To spoil it? You mean that you sought to flirt even with me. Ah, I knew you did. But that is nothing. PHOEBE. Oh, sir, if you could overlook it. VALENTINE. I do. PHOEBE. And forget these hateful balls. VALENTINE. Hateful! Nay, I shall never call them that. They have done me too great a service. It was at the balls that I fell in love with Miss Phoebe. PHOEBE. What can you mean? VALENTINE. She who was never at a ball! (_Checking himself humorously._) But I must not tell you, it might hurt you. PHOEBE. Tell me. VALENTINE (_gaily_). Then on your own head be the blame. It is you who have made me love her, Miss Livvy. PHOEBE. Sir? VALENTINE. Yes, it is odd, and yet very simple. You who so resembled her as she was! for an hour, ma'am, you bewitched me; yes, I confess it, but 'twas only for an hour. How like, I cried at first, but soon it was, how unlike. There was almost nothing she would have said that you said; you did so much that she would have scorned to do. But I must not say these things to you! PHOEBE. I ask it of you, Captain Brown. VALENTINE. Well! Miss Phoebe's 'lady-likeness,' on which she set such store that I used to make merry of the word--I gradually perceived that it is a woman's most beautiful garment, and the casket which contains all the adorable qualities that go to the making of a perfect female. When Miss Livvy rolled her eyes--ah! (_He stops apologetically._) PHOEBE. Proceed, sir. VALENTINE. It but made me the more complacent that never in her life had Miss Phoebe been guilty of the slightest deviation from the strictest propriety. (_She shudders._) I was always conceiving her in your place. Oh, it was monstrous unfair to you. I stood looking at you, Miss Livvy, and seeing in my mind her and the pretty things she did, and you did not do; why, ma'am, that is how I fell in love with Miss Phoebe at the balls. PHOEBE. I thank you. VALENTINE. Ma'am, tell me, do you think there is any hope for me? PHOEBE. Hope! VALENTINE. I shall go to her. 'Miss Phoebe,' I will say--oh, ma'am, so reverently--'Miss Phoebe, my beautiful, most estimable of women, let me take care of you for ever more.'