(They have already learned from PATTY, we may be sure, that he is in the house, but they express genteel surprise.)
MISS FANNY. Mary, surely we are addressing the gallant Captain Brown!
VALENTINE. It is the Misses Willoughby and Miss Henrietta. 'Tis indeed a gratification to renew acquaintance with such elegant and respectable females.
(The greetings are elaborate.)
MISS WILLOUGHBY. You have seen Miss Phoebe, sir?
VALENTINE. I have had the honour. Miss Phoebe, I regret to say, is now lying down with the headache. (The ladies are too delicately minded to exchange glances before a man, but they are privately of opinion that this meeting after ten years with the dazzling BROWN has laid MISS PHOEBE low. They are in a twitter of sympathy with her, and yearning to see MISS SUSAN alone, so that they may draw from her an account of the exciting meeting.) You do not favour the ball to-night?
MISS FANNY. I confess balls are distasteful to me.
MISS HENRIETTA. 'Twill be a mixed assembly. I am credibly informed that the woollen draper's daughter has obtained a card.
VALENTINE (gravely). Good God, ma'am, is it possible?
MISS WILLOUGHBY. We shall probably spend the evening here with Miss Susan at the card table.
VALENTINE. But Miss Susan goes with me to the ball, ma'am.
(This is scarcely less exciting to them than the overthrow of the Corsican.)
VALENTINE. Nay, I hope there be no impropriety. Miss Livvy will accompany her.
MISS WILLOUGHBY (bewildered). Miss Livvy?
VALENTINE. Their charming niece.
(The ladies repeat the word in a daze.)
MISS FANNY. They had not apprised us that they have a visitor.
(They think this reticence unfriendly, and are wondering whether they ought not to retire hurt, when MISS SUSAN enters in her bombazine, wraps, and bonnet. She starts at sight of them, and has the bearing of a guilty person.)
MISS WILLOUGHBY (stiffly). We have but now been advertised of your intention for this evening, Susan.
MISS HENRIETTA. We deeply regret our intrusion.
MISS SUSAN (wistfully). Please not to be piqued, Mary. 'Twas so – sudden.
MISS WILLOUGHBY. I cannot remember, Susan, that your estimable brother had a daughter. I thought all the three were sons.
MISS SUSAN (with deplorable readiness). Three sons and a daughter. Surely you remember little Livvy, Mary?
MISS WILLOUGHBY (bluntly). No, Susan, I do not.
MISS SUSAN. I – I must go. I hear Livvy calling.
MISS FANNY (tartly). I hear nothing but the band. We are not to see your niece?
MISS SUSAN. Another time – to-morrow. Pray rest a little before you depart, Mary. I – I – Phoebe Livvy – the headache —
(But before she can go another lady enters gaily.)
VALENTINE. Ah, here is Miss Livvy.
(The true culprit is more cunning than MISS SUSAN, and before they can see her she quickly pulls the strings of her bonnet, which is like MISS HENRIETTA'S, and it obscures her face.)
MISS SUSAN. This – this is my niece, Livvy – Miss Willoughby, Miss Henrietta, Miss Fanny Willoughby.
VALENTINE. Ladies, excuse my impatience, but —
MISS WILLOUGHBY. One moment, sir. May I ask, Miss Livvy, how many brothers you have.
PHOEBE. Two.
MISS WILLOUGHBY. I thank you.
(She looks strangely at MISS SUSAN, and MISS PHOEBE knows that she has blundered.)
PHOEBE (at a venture). Excluding the unhappy Thomas.
MISS SUSAN (clever for the only moment in her life). We never mention him.
(They are swept away on the arms of the impatient CAPTAIN.)
MISS WILLOUGHBY, MISS HENRIETTA, AND MISS FANNY. What has Thomas done?
(They have no suspicion as yet of what MISS PHOEBE has done; but they believe there is a scandal in the Throssel family, and they will not sleep happily until they know what it is.)
ACT III
THE BALL
A ball, but not the one to which we have seen Miss Susan and Miss Phoebe rush forth upon their career of crime. This is the third of the series, the one of which Patty has foretold with horrid relish that it promises to be specially given over to devilries. The scene is a canvas pavilion, used as a retiring room and for card play, and through an opening in the back we have glimpses of gay uniforms and fair ladies intermingled in the bravery of the dance. There is coming and going through this opening, and also through slits in the canvas. The pavilion is fantastically decorated in various tastes, and is lit with lanterns. A good-natured moon, nevertheless, shines into it benignly. Some of the card tables are neglected, but at one a game of quadrille is in progress. There is much movement and hilarity, but none from one side of the tent, where sit several young ladies, all pretty, all appealing and all woeful, for no gallant comes to ask them if he may have the felicity. The nervous woman chaperoning them, and afraid to meet their gaze lest they scowl or weep in reply, is no other than Miss Susan, the most unhappy Miss Susan we have yet seen; she sits there gripping her composure in both hands. Far less susceptible to shame is the brazen Phoebe, who may be seen passing the opening on the arm of a cavalier, and flinging her trembling sister a mischievous kiss. The younger ladies note the incident; alas, they are probably meant to notice it, and they cower, as under a blow.
HARRIET (a sad-eyed, large girl, who we hope found a romance at her next ball). Are we so disagreeable that no one will dance with us? Miss Susan, 'tis infamous; they have eyes for no one but your niece.
CHARLOTTE. Miss Livvy has taken Ensign Blades from me.
HARRIET. If Miss Phoebe were here, I am sure she would not allow her old pupils to be so neglected.
(The only possible reply for MISS SUSAN is to make herself look as small as possible. A lieutenant comes to them, once a scorner of woman, but now SPICER the bewitched. HARRIET has a moment's hope.)
How do you do, sir?
SPICER (with dreadful indifference, though she is his dear cousin). Nay, ma'am, how do you do? (Wistfully.) May I stand beside you, Miss Susan?
(He is a most melancholic young man, and he fidgets her.)
MISS SUSAN (with spirit). You have been standing beside me, sir, nearly all the evening. SPICER (humbly. It is strange to think that he had been favourably mentioned in despatches). Indeed, I cannot but be cognisant of the sufferings I cause by attaching myself to you in this unseemly manner. Accept my assurances, ma'am, that you have my deepest sympathy.
MISS SUSAN. Then why do you do it?
SPICER. Because you are her aunt, ma'am. It is a scheme of mine by which I am in hopes to soften her heart. Her affection for you, ma'am, is beautiful to observe, and if she could be persuaded that I seek her hand from a passionate desire to have you for my Aunt Susan – do you perceive anything hopeful in my scheme, ma'am?
MISS SUSAN. No, sir, I do not.
(SPICER wanders away gloomily, takes too much to drink, and ultimately becomes a general. ENSIGN BLADES appears, frowning, and CHARLOTTE ventures to touch his sleeve.)