Quality Street: A Comedy. Barrie James Matthew
Until he said: 'Allow me to present my new partner, Mr. Valentine Brown.'
MISS SUSAN. Phoebe, do you remember how at the tea-table he facetiously passed the cake-basket with nothing in it!
PHOEBE. He was so amusing from the first. I am thankful, Susan, that I too have a sense of humour. I am exceedingly funny at times; am I not, Susan?
MISS SUSAN. Yes, indeed. But he sees humour in the most unexpected things. I say something so ordinary about loving, for instance, to have everything either blue or white in this room, and I know not why he laughs, but it makes me feel quite witty.
PHOEBE (a little anxiously). I hope he sees nothing odd or quaint about us.
MISS SUSAN. My dear, I am sure he cannot.
PHOEBE. Susan, the picnics.
MISS SUSAN. Phoebe, the day when he first drank tea in this house.
PHOEBE. He invited himself.
MISS SUSAN. He merely laughed when I said it would cause such talk.
PHOEBE. He is absolutely fearless. Susan, he has smoked his pipe in this room.
(They are both a little scared.)
MISS SUSAN. Smoking is indeed a dreadful habit.
PHOEBE. But there is something so dashing about it.
MISS SUSAN (with melancholy). And now I am to be left alone.
PHOEBE. No.
MISS SUSAN. My dear, I could not leave this room. My lovely blue and white room. It is my husband.
PHOEBE (who has become agitated). Susan, you must make my house your home. I have something distressing to tell you.
MISS SUSAN. You alarm me.
PHOEBE. You know Mr. Brown advised us how to invest half of our money.
MISS SUSAN. I know it gives us eight per cent., though why it should do so I cannot understand, but very obliging, I am sure.
PHOEBE. Susan, all that money is lost; I had the letter several days ago.
MISS SUSAN. Lost?
PHOEBE. Something burst, dear, and then they absconded.
MISS SUSAN. But Mr. Brown —
PHOEBE. I have not advertised him of it yet, for he will think it was his fault. But I shall tell him to-day.
MISS SUSAN. Phoebe, how much have we left?
PHOEBE. Only sixty pounds a year, so you see you must live with us, dearest.
MISS SUSAN. But Mr. Brown – he —
PHOEBE (grandly). He is a man of means, and if he is not proud to have my Susan I shall say at once: 'Mr. Brown – the door.'
(She presses her cheek to MISS SUSAN'S.)
MISS SUSAN (softly). Phoebe, I have a wedding gift for you.
PHOEBE. Not yet?
MISS SUSAN. It has been ready for a long time. I began it when you were not ten years old and I was a young woman. I meant it for myself, Phoebe. I had hoped that he – his name was William – but I think I must have been too unattractive, my love.
PHOEBE. Sweetest – dearest —
MISS SUSAN. I always associate it with a sprigged poplin I was wearing that summer, with a breadth of coloured silk in it, being a naval officer; but something happened, a Miss Cicely Pemberton, and they are quite big boys now. So long ago, Phoebe – he was very tall, with brown hair – it was most foolish of me, but I was always so fond of sewing – with long straight legs and such a pleasant expression.
PHOEBE. Susan, what was it?
MISS SUSAN. It was a wedding-gown, my dear. Even plain women, Phoebe, we can't help it; when we are young we have romantic ideas just as if we were pretty. And so the wedding-gown was never used. Long before it was finished I knew he would not offer, but I finished it, and then I put it away. I have always hidden it from you, Phoebe, but of late I have brought it out again, and altered it.
(She goes to ottoman and unlocks it.)
PHOEBE. Susan, I could not wear it. (MISS SUSAN brings the wedding-gown.) Oh! how sweet, how beautiful!
MISS SUSAN. You will wear it, my love, won't you? And the tears it was sewn with long ago will all turn into smiles on my Phoebe's wedding-day.
(They are tearfully happy when a knock is heard on the street door.)
PHOEBE. That knock.
MISS SUSAN. So dashing.
PHOEBE. So imperious. (She is suddenly panic-stricken.) Susan, I think he kissed me once.
MISS SUSAN (startled). You think?
PHOEBE. I know he did. That evening – a week ago, when he was squiring me home from the concert. It was raining, and my face was wet; he said that was why he did it.
MISS SUSAN. Because your face was wet?
PHOEBE. It does not seem a sufficient excuse now.
MISS SUSAN (appalled). O Phoebe, before he had offered.
PHOEBE (in distress). I fear me it was most unladylike.
(VALENTINE BROWN is shown in. He is a frank, genial young man of twenty-five who honestly admires the ladies, though he is amused by their quaintness. He is modestly aware that it is in the blue and white room alone that he is esteemed a wit.)
BROWN. Miss Susan, how do you do, ma'am? Nay, Miss Phoebe, though we have met to-day already I insist on shaking hands with you again.
MISS SUSAN. Always so dashing.
(VALENTINE laughs and the ladies exchange delighted smiles.)
VALENTINE (to MISS SUSAN). And my other friends, I hope I find them in health? The spinet, ma'am, seems quite herself to-day; I trust the ottoman passed a good night?
MISS SUSAN (beaming). We are all quite well, sir.
VALENTINE. May I sit on this chair, Miss Phoebe? I know Miss Susan likes me to break her chairs.
MISS SUSAN. Indeed, sir, I do not. Phoebe, how strange that he should think so.
PHOEBE (instantly). The remark was humorous, was it not?
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.)
VALENTINE (rather disappointed). The explanation being, I suppose, that you both know, and I had flattered myself 'twas such a secret. Am I then to understand that you had foreseen it all, Miss Phoebe?
PHOEBE. Nay, sir, you must not ask that.
VALENTINE. I believe in any case 'twas you who first put it into my head.
PHOEBE (aghast). Oh, I hope not.
VALENTINE. Your demure eyes