I spoke plainly to this gentleman. Please leave him to me.
Surely 'twill come best from me.

MISS HENRIETTA. Indeed, yes, if it be not too painful to you.

PHOEBE. I must do my duty.

MISS FANNY (_wistfully_). If we could remain--

PHOEBE. Would it be seemly, Miss Fanny?

MISS HENRIETTA. Come, Fanny. (_To_ BLADES.) Sir, you bring your
punishment upon yourself.

(_They press_ PHOEBE'S _hand, and go. Her heart returns to its usual
abode._)

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.

BLADES. Both, ma'am? (_But he is not sure that he has not had a
miraculous escape._)

PHOEBE (_severely_). 'Tis such as you, with your foolish flirting
ways, that confuse the minds of women and make us try to be as silly as
yourselves.

SPICER (_crushed_). Ma'am.

PHOEBE. I did not mean to hurt you. (_She takes a hand of each and
tries to advise them as if her curls were once more hidden under a
cap._) You are so like little boys in a school. Do be good.