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?