PATTY, a buxom young woman, who loves her mistresses and smiles at them, and knows how to terrorise them.)
Patty, I hope we may not hurt your feelings, but —
PATTY (sternly). Are you implicating, ma'am, that I have a follower?
MISS SUSAN. Oh no, Patty.
PATTY. So be it.
MISS SUSAN (ashamed). Patty, come back, (Humbly) I told a falsehood just now; I am ashamed of myself.
PATTY (severely). As well you might be, ma'am.
PHOEBE (so roused that she would look heroic if she did not spoil the effect by wagging her finger at PATTY). How dare you. There is a man in the kitchen. To the door with him.
PATTY. A glorious soldier to be so treated!
PHOEBE. The door.
PATTY. And if he refuses?
(They looked perplexed.)
MISS SUSAN. Oh dear!
PHOEBE. If he refuses send him here to me.
(Exit PATTY.)
MISS SUSAN. Lion-hearted Phoebe.
MISS WILLOUGHBY. A soldier? (Nervously) I wish it may not be that impertinent recruiting sergeant. I passed him in the street to-day. He closed one of his eyes at me and then quickly opened it. I knew what he meant.
PHOEBE. He does not come.
MISS SUSAN. I think I hear their voices in dispute.
(She is listening through the floor. They all stoop or go on their knees to listen, and when they are in this position the RECRUITING SERGEANT enters unobserved. He chuckles aloud. In a moment PHOEBE is alone with him.)
SERGEANT (with an Irish accent). Your servant, ma'am.
PHOEBE (advancing sternly on him). Sir – (She is perplexed, as he seems undismayed.) Sergeant – (She sees mud from his boots on the carpet.) Oh! oh! (Brushes carpet.) Sergeant, I am wishful to scold you, but would you be so obliging as to stand on this paper while I do it?
SERGEANT. With all the pleasure in life, ma'am.
PHOEBE (forgetting to be angry). Sergeant, have you killed people?
SERGEANT. Dozens, ma'am, dozens.
PHOEBE. How terrible. Oh, sir, I pray every night that the Lord in His loving-kindness will root the enemy up. Is it true that the Corsican Ogre eats babies?
SERGEANT. I have spoken with them as have seen him do it, ma'am.
PHOEBE. The Man of Sin. Have you ever seen a vivandiere, sir? (Wistfully) I have sometimes wished there were vivandieres in the British Army. (For a moment she sees herself as one.) Oh, Sergeant, a shudder goes through me when I see you in the streets enticing those poor young men.
SERGEANT. If you were one of them, ma'am, and death or glory was the call, you would take the shilling, ma'am.
PHOEBE. Oh, not for that.
SERGEANT. For King and Country, ma'am?
PHOEBE (grandly). Yes, yes, for that.
SERGEANT (candidly). Not that it is all fighting. The sack of captured towns – the loot.
PHOEBE (proudly). An English soldier never sacks nor loots.
SERGEANT. No, ma'am. And then – the girls.
PHOEBE. What girls?
SERGEANT. In the towns that – that we don't sack.
PHOEBE. How they must hate the haughty conqueror.
SERGEANT. We are not so haughty as all that.
PHOEBE (sadly). I think I understand. I am afraid, Sergeant, you do not tell those poor young men the noble things I thought you told them.
SERGEANT. Ma'am, I must e'en tell them what they are wishful to hear. There ha' been five, ma'am, all this week, listening to me and then showing me their heels, but by a grand stroke of luck I have them at last.
PHOEBE. Luck?
(MISS SUSAN opens door slightly and listens.)
SERGEANT. The luck, ma'am, is that a gentleman of the town has enlisted. That gave them the push forward.
(MISS SUSAN is excited.)
PHOEBE. A gentleman of this town enlisted? (Eagerly) Sergeant, who?
SERGEANT. Nay, ma'am, I think it be a secret as yet.
PHOEBE. But a gentleman! 'Tis the most amazing, exciting thing. Sergeant, be so obliging.
SERGEANT. Nay, ma'am, I can't.
MISS SUSAN (at door, carried away by excitement). But you must, you must!
SERGEANT (turning to the door). You see, ma'am —
(The door is hurriedly closed.)
PHOEBE (ashamed). Sergeant, I have not been saying the things I meant to say to you. Will you please excuse my turning you out of the house somewhat violently.
SERGEANT. I am used to it, ma'am.
PHOEBE. I won't really hurt you.
SERGEANT. Thank you kindly, ma'am.
PHOEBE (observing the bedroom door opening a little, and speaking in a loud voice). I protest, sir; we shall permit no followers in this house. Should I discover you in my kitchen again I shall pitch you out – neck and crop. Begone, sir.
(The SERGEANT retires affably. All the ladies except MISS HENRIETTA come out, admiring PHOEBE. The WILLOUGHBYS are attired for their journey across the street.)
MISS WILLOUGHBY. Miss Phoebe, we could not but admire you.
(PHOEBE, alas, knows that she is not admirable.)
PHOEBE. But the gentleman recruit?
MISS SUSAN. Perhaps they will know who he is at the woollen-drapers.
MISS FANNY. Let us inquire.
(But before they go MISS WILLOUGHBY has a duty to perform.)
MISS WILLOUGHBY. I wish to apologise. Miss Phoebe, you are a dear, good girl. If I have made remarks about her ringlets, Susan, it was jealousy. (PHOEBE and MISS SUSAN wish to embrace her, but she is not in the mood for it.) Come, sister.
MISS FANNY (the dear woman that she is). Phoebe, dear, I wish you very happy.
(PHOEBE
