(He goes out, lower right, and there is a brief silence as the two
look after him.)

MINNIE. Say, who is he?

GEORGE. Why, he's a cousin of mine--

MINNIE. I don't mean that. He's somebody, ain't he?

GEORGE. By jingo, I'm beginning to think he is!

(They stand gazing at one another.)

MINNIE (remembering her grievance: passionately). Now you've gone and
done it--telling your mother we were friends.

GEORGE. But we are--aren't we? You couldn't expect me to keep quiet,
under the circumstances.

MINNIE. She thinks I'm not fit to talk to you. Not that I care, except
that I was fond of her, she's been good to me in her way, and I felt real
bad when I went off to Newcastle with the letter to the minister I never
laid eyes on. She'll believe--you know what she'll believe,--it'll
trouble her. She's your mother, and you're going away. You might have
kept still.

GEORGE. I couldn't keep still. What would you have thought of me?

MINNIE. It don't make any difference what I'd have thought of you.