le of it. So I just undressed and dove in and
it was the most marvelous thing in the world. And then I danced on the
bank in the grass and the moonlight--oh, Lordy, Miles, you ought to have
seen me.

MRS. BREWSTER: Priscilla!

PRISCILLA: 'Scuse me, Auntie Brewster. And then I just lay in the grass
and sang and laughed.

MRS. BREWSTER: Dear, you'll catch your death of cold one of these
nights. I hope you'll excuse me, Captain Standish; it's time I was going
to our social. I'll leave Priscilla to entertain you. Now be a good
girl, Priscilla, and please dear don't drink straight vermouth--remember
what happened last time. Good night, Captain--good night, dear.

(Exit MRS. BREWSTER with gin.)

PRISCILLA: Oh damn! What'll we do, Miles--I'm getting awfully sleepy.

MILES: Why--we might--er--pet a bit.

PRISCILLA (yawning): No. I'm too tired--besides, I hate whiskers.

MILES: Yes, that's so, I remember. (Ten minutes' silence, with MILES
looking sentimentally into the fireplace, PRISCILLA curled up in a chair
on the other side.)

MILES: I was--your aunt and I--we were talking about you before you came
in. It was a talk that meant a lot to me.

PRISCILLA: Miles, would you mind closing that window?

(MILES closes the window and returns to his chair by the fireplace.)

MILES: And your aunt told me that your mother said you would some day
marry a military man.

PRISCILLA: Miles, would you mind passing me that pillow over there?

(MILES gets up, takes the pillow to PRISCILLA and again sits down.)

MILES: And I thought that if you wanted a military man why--well, I've
always thought a great deal of you, Mistress Priscilla--and since my
Rose died I've been pretty lonely, and while I'm nothing but a rough
old soldier yet--well, what I'm driving at is--you see, maybe you and I
could sort of--well, I'm not much of a hand at fancy love speeches and
all that--but--

(He is interrupted by a snore. He glances up and sees that PRISCILLA has
fallen fast asleep. He sits looking hopelessly into the fireplace for a
long time, then gets up, puts on his hat and tiptoes out of the door.)

THE NEXT EVENING

PRISCILLA is sitting alone, lost in revery, before the fireplace. It is
almost as if she had not moved since the evening before.

A knock, and the door opens to admit JOHN ALDEN, nonchalant,
disillusioned, and twenty-one.

JOHN: Good evening. Hope I don't bother you.

PRISCILLA: The only people who bother me are women who