Daisy. (slightly advancing) Did you speak to me, sir?
Deacon. (confused) No—yes,—that is—What's your name, my pretty miss?
Daisy. Daisy Dean, sir.
Deacon. Are you married?
Daisy. No, sir.
Deacon. Wouldn't you like to be?
Daisy. (demurely) I—don't know, sir.
Deacon. (to self) I'll think the matter over. (aloud, coaxingly) Won't you come and give me a kiss?
Daisy. (looks at the Deacon a moment in amazement, then with emphasis) No, sir, I won't. (turning quickly with toss of head, she exits at gate, closes it, looks a moment at Deacon, who follows her retreating form with open-mouthed astonishment, then quickly exits L. The Deacon gradually faces round to audience, with the look of wonderment still suffusing countenance)
Deacon. Well, it's plain she was not particularly smitten with me. (resumes seat)