BE. And forget these hateful balls.

VALENTINE. Hateful! Nay, I shall never call them that. They have
done me too great a service. It was at the balls that I fell in love
with Miss Phoebe.

PHOEBE. What can you mean?

VALENTINE. She who was never at a ball! (_Checking himself
humorously._) But I must not tell you, it might hurt you.

PHOEBE. Tell me.

VALENTINE (_gaily_). Then on your own head be the blame. It is you
who have made me love her, Miss Livvy.

PHOEBE. Sir?

VALENTINE. Yes, it is odd, and yet very simple. You who so resembled
her as she was! for an hour, ma'am, you bewitched me; yes, I confess
it, but 'twas only for an hour. How like, I cried at first, but soon
it was, how unlike. There was almost nothing she would have said that
you said; you did so much that she would have scorned to do. But I
must not say these things to you!

PHOEBE. I ask it of you, Captain Brown.

VALENTINE. Well! Miss Phoebe's 'lady-likeness,' on which she set such
store that I used to make merry of the word--I gradually perceived that
it is a woman's most beautiful garment, and the casket which contains
all the adorable qualities that go to the making of a perfect female.
When Miss Livvy rolled her eyes--ah!

(_He stops apologetically._)

PHOEBE. Proceed, sir.

VALENTINE. It but made me the more complacent that never in her life
had Miss Phoebe been guilty of the slightest deviation from the
strictest propriety. (_She shudders._) I was always conceiving her in
your place. Oh, it was monstrous unfair to you. I stood looking at
you, Miss Livvy, and seeing in my mind her and the pretty things she
did, and you did not do; why, ma'am, that is how I fell in love with
Miss Phoebe at the balls.

PHOEBE. I thank you.

VALENTINE. Ma'am, tell me, do you think there is any hope for me?

PHOEBE. Hope!

VALENTINE. I shall go to her. 'Miss Phoebe,' I will say--oh, ma'am,
so reverently--'Miss Phoebe, my beautiful, most estimable of women, let
me take care of you for ever more.'

(MISS PHOEBE _presses the words to her heart and then drops them._)

PHOEBE. Beautiful. La, Aunt Phoebe!

VALENTINE. Ah, ma'am, you may laugh at a rough soldier so much
enamoured, but 'tis true. 'Marry me, Miss Phoebe,' I will say, 'and I
will take you back through those years of hardships that have made your
sweet eyes too patient. Instead of growing older you shall grow
younger. We will travel back together to