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.
GEORGE. It makes a difference to me, and it makes some difference what I
think of myself. I seem to be learning a good many things this morning.
MINNIE. From him?
GEORGE: You mean Dr. Jonathan?
MINNIE. Yes.
GEORGE (reflecting). I don't know. I'm learning them from you, from
everybody.
MINNIE. Maybe he put you wise.
GEORGE. Well, I don't feel wise. And seeing you again this morning
brought it all back to me.
MINNIE. You were only fooling.
GEORGE. I began that way,--I'll own up. But I told you I'd never met
a girl like you, you're full of pep--courage--something I can't describe.
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