(MILES gets up, takes the pillow to PRISCILLA and again sits down.)
MILES: And I thought that if you wanted a military man why—well, I've always thought a great deal of you, Mistress Priscilla—and since my Rose died I've been pretty lonely, and while I'm nothing but a rough old soldier yet—well, what I'm driving at is—you see, maybe you and I could sort of—well, I'm not much of a hand at fancy love speeches and all that—but—
(He is interrupted by a snore. He glances up and sees that PRISCILLA has fallen fast asleep. He sits looking hopelessly into the fireplace for a long time, then gets up, puts on his hat and tiptoes out of the door.)
THE NEXT EVENING
PRISCILLA is sitting alone, lost in revery, before the fireplace. It is almost as if she had not moved since the evening before.
A knock, and the door opens to admit JOHN ALDEN, nonchalant, disillusioned, and twenty-one.
JOHN: Good evening. Hope I don't bother you.
PRISCILLA: The only people who bother me are women who tell me I'm beautiful and men who don't.
JOHN: Not a very brilliant epigram—but still—yes, you ARE beautiful.
PRISCILLA: Of course, if it's an effort for you to say—