Bess. Well, then, I should try and make the best of it.
May. Bess, do you know this man loves you?
Bess. Marcus Graves? well, he ought to.
May. No, this man, Matt Winsor.
Bess. (Aside.) Ah! the cat’s out of the bag. (Aloud.) Good gracious! Has he told you so?
May. No, but I read it in every glance at his eye, every flush of his cheek. Oh! Bess, Bess, you must not encourage this.
Bess. Encourage,——I——well I never. Didn’t I tell him I loved him as a brother.
May. Suppose he should some day tell you he adored you?
Bess. ’Twould be just like him. Soldiers adore, Civilians love. I prefer adoration, its a longer word, and of course contains more of the language of love.
May. Suppose he should ask you to marry him?