MISS SUSAN. You will wear it, my love, won't you? And the tears it was sewn with long ago will all turn into smiles on my Phoebe's wedding-day.
(They are tearfully happy when a knock is heard on the street door.)
PHOEBE. That knock.
MISS SUSAN. So dashing.
PHOEBE. So imperious. (She is suddenly panic-stricken.) Susan, I think he kissed me once.
MISS SUSAN (startled). You think?
PHOEBE. I know he did. That evening—a week ago, when he was squiring me home from the concert. It was raining, and my face was wet; he said that was why he did it.
MISS SUSAN. Because your face was wet?
PHOEBE. It does not seem a sufficient excuse now.
MISS SUSAN (appalled). O Phoebe, before he had offered.