Kitty. I mean the presents you have bestowed upon me,—calicoes of the latest patterns, sweetmeats in great varieties, which you, as a shopkeeper, have presented me with.
Tom (aside). At old Gleason's expense.
Kitty. Of course I value them. But a girl wants the man she loves to be a hero: to plunge into rivers to rescue drowning men, and all that sort of thing.
Tom (aside). And Nat can't swim. That's hard on him.
Kitty. And you, Mr. Larcom, have been equally attentive. Your gifts—the choicest fruits of your orchard, the beautiful flowers nightly laid within my reach—all have a touching significance. Still, as I said, a girl looks for something higher in the man she loves. He must be bold—
Nat (aside). Tom's afraid of his own shadow. He's mittened.
Kitty. Rush into burning houses, stop runaway horses, rescue distressed females; and I am very much afraid neither of my devoted admirers can claim the title of hero. So, gentlemen, with many thanks for your attentions, I say No.
Nat. No! That is for Tom.
Tom. No! You mean Nat.
Kitty. I mean both. (Nat and Tom look at her, then at each other, then both rise and come front.)