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?