MRS. BREWSTER: Come in.
(Enter CAPTAIN MIKES STANDISH, whiskered and forty. In a later generation, with that imposing mustache and his hatred of Indians, Miles would undoubtedly have been a bank president. At present he seems somewhat ill at ease, and obviously relieved to find only PRISCILLA'S aunt at home.)
MRS. BREWSTER: Good evening, Captain Standish.
MILES: Good evening, Mrs. Brewster. It's—it's cool for June, isn't it?
MRS. BREWSTER: Yes. I suppose we'll pay, for it with a hot July, though.
MILES (nervously): Yes, but it—it is cool for June, isn't it?
MRS. BREWSTER: So you said, Captain.
MILES: Yes. So I said, didn't I? (Silence.)
MILES: Mistress Priscilla isn't home, then?
MRS. BREWSTER: Why, I don't think so, Captain But I never can be sure where Priscilla is.