BLADES (bewildered). Are you angry with me, Miss Livvy?
PHOEBE. Oh, no.
BLADES. Miss Livvy, I have something to say to you of supreme importance to me. With regard to my complexion, I am aware, Miss Livvy, that it has retained a too youthful bloom. My brother officers comment on it with a certain lack of generosity. (Anxiously.) Might I inquire, ma'am, whether you regard my complexion as a subject for light talk.
PHOEBE. No indeed, sir, I only wish I had it.
BLADES (who has had no intention of offering, but is suddenly carried off his feet by the excellence of the opportunity, which is no doubt responsible for many proposals). Miss Livvy, ma'am, you may have it.
(She has a great and humorous longing that she could turn before his affrighted eyes into the schoolmistress she really is. She would endure much to be able at this moment to say, 'I have listened to you, ENSIGN BLADES, with attention, but I am really MISS PHOEBE, and I must now request you to fetch me the implement.' Under the shock, would he have surrendered his palm for punishment? It can never be known, for as she looks at him longingly, LIEUTENANT SPICER enters, and he mistakes the meaning of that longing look.)
SPICER. 'Tis my dance, ma'am—'tis not Ensign Blades'.
BLADES. Leave us, sir. We have matter of moment to discuss.
SPICER (fearing the worst). His affection, Miss Livvy, is not so deep as mine. He is a light and shallow nature.
PHOEBE. Pooh! You are both light and shallow natures.