(He goes out, lower right, and there is a brief silence as the two
look after him.)
MINNIE. Say, who is he?
GEORGE. Why, he's a cousin of mine—
MINNIE. I don't mean that. He's somebody, ain't he?
GEORGE. By jingo, I'm beginning to think he is!
(They stand gazing at one another.)
MINNIE (remembering her grievance: passionately). Now you've gone and done it—telling your mother we were friends.
GEORGE. But we are—aren't we? You couldn't expect me to keep quiet, under the circumstances.
MINNIE. She thinks I'm not fit to talk to you. Not that I care, except that I was fond of her, she's been good to me in her way, and I felt real bad when I went off to Newcastle with the letter to the minister I never laid eyes on. She'll believe—you know what she'll believe,—it'll trouble her. She's your mother, and you're going away. You might have kept still.
GEORGE. I couldn't keep still. What would you have thought of me?