Quality Street Part 3

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 das.h.i.+ng 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 a.s.sociate 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 das.h.i.+ng.

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 das.h.i.+ng.