VALENTINE. How you see through me, Miss Phoebe.
(The sisters again exchange delighted smiles. VALENTINE is about to take a seat.)
MISS SUSAN (thinking aloud). Oh dear, I feel sure he is going to roll the coverlet into a ball and then sit on it.
(VALENTINE, who has been on the point of doing so, abstains and sits guiltily.)
VALENTINE. So I am dashing, Miss Susan? Am I dashing, Miss Phoebe?
PHOEBE. A—little, I think.
VALENTINE. Well, but I have something to tell you to-day which I really think is rather dashing. (MISS SUSAN gathers her knitting, looks at PHOEBE, and is preparing to go.) You are not going, ma'am, before you know what it is?
MISS SUSAN. I—I—indeed—to be sure—I—I know, Mr. Brown.
PHOEBE. Susan!
MISS SUSAN. I mean I do not know. I mean I can guess—I mean—— Phoebe, my love, explain. (She goes out.)