PHOEBE (reading)
The lilies are her pretty thoughts,
Her shoulders are the may,
Her smiles are all forget-me-nots,
The path 's her gracious way,
The roses that do line it are
Her fancies walking round,
'Tis sweetly smelling lavender
In which my lady's gowned.
(MISS PHOEBE has thought herself strong, but she is not able to read such exquisite lines without betraying herself to a lover's gaze.)
VALENTINE (excitedly). Miss Phoebe, when did you cease to care for me?
PHOEBE (retreating from him but clinging to her poem). You promised not to ask.
VALENTINE. I know not why you should, Miss Phoebe, but I believe you love me still!
(MISS PHOEBE has the terrified appearance of a detected felon.)
(MISS SUSAN returns.)
MISS SUSAN. You are talking so loudly.