(A pleasant sitting room, lamps lighted for evening. Samantha dressed in brown alpaca, with a book in her hand sits in an easy chair and says to herself).

Samantha. Josiah sot off in good season after all for Jonesville, and at his request I went with him, and on the way we visited very agreeable. He wuz extremely affectionate, caused partly by his feelings, for he worships me, and partly by his dinner, for it wuz as good a dinner as hands ever got. I briled the young tender fowl I had already dressed, smashed up the potatoes with plenty of cream and butter in ’em, made an orange puddin’ so delicious it would fairly melt in your mouth, and some fragrant coffee so rich and yaller with cream it would do anyone’s soul good to drink it, and while I wuz gittin’ dinner, such is my faculty for turnin’ off work, I finished that butter, and immegiately after dinner packed it, put a snow-white cloth over it, and we sot off in good season after all for Jonesville.

Josiah. (Enters room, hangs up coat and hat and takes a comfortable chair, leans back looking very good natured, and says as he looks at Samantha and hitches his chair nearer to her). That sweet flowery talk I read this mornin’ is a comfort to men to write, and makes ’em feel good natured and patronizin’ towards wimmen. But come to crumple right down to real life that Rose Act wouldn’t work worth a cent, and if it did, men would git sick of it, sick as a dog. (He draws his chair still nearer to Samantha).

Samantha. And I felt like a fool sittin’ there tryin’ to allure and charm, smilin’ stiddy when I knew everything wuz at loose ends in the kitchen. I wuz as happy agin when I wuz getting your dinner.

Josiah. (Heartily and loudly). So wuz I, Samantha, heaven knows, I wuz as happy as a king when you wuz gittin’ it, and happier than any king ever wuz when I wuz eatin’ it.

Samantha. I don’t know when I am happier than when I am makin’ my home comfortable and agreeable, gittin’ a good warm supper for you when I know you are comin’ home tired and cold and hungry at night-fall. Goin’ round reasonable and calm in a clean kitchen, brilin’ a plump fowl or cookin’ oysters and cream biscuits, and coffee or sunthin’ else you like, settin’ the snowy table and keepin a bright fire blazin’ on a clean hearth, waitin’ for the man I love. (Enthusiastically as she steps to the table for her knitting). I am as happy again and any woman would be as happy again as she would be tryin’ to do that Rose Act.

Josiah. (Earnestly). Yes, that is so, Samantha.

Samantha. I tell you, Josiah, that wimmen that don’t keep a hired girl and have to bring up five or six children by hand, besides doin’ all the housework, washin’ and ironin’, sewin’, skimmin’ milk and makin’ butter and cleanin’ house and settin’ hens and feedin’ chickens and makin’ rag carpets and quiltin’ bed-quilts and knittin’ stockin’s and pickin’ geese and dryin’ apples and makin’ soap and paperin’ walls and paintin’ doorsteps and tendin’ flower gardens and weedin’ onions and etcetery, they have to do some important work, they cannot set still and allure and charm, not for any length of time.

Josiah. That’s so, Samantha, it hadn’t ort to be expected of a poor woman.

Samantha. (With knitting in her lap and spec’s pushed up). No, Josiah, nor from rich wimmen either that have to wait on three or four hired girls, and have big houses in country and city, and tend big parties and give ’em, and go out drivin’ every day and to the opera, and theatres, and to Eourope every now and then and to the sea-shore and mountains, and south and east and west, and ride out in yots and ortos and air-ships, and set on boards, charity and missionary and hospital boards, every one on ’em hard ones, and give balls and entertainments for the same. And get their children headed right in morals and education and society. And stand up hour after hour to be fitted for mornin’ gowns and evenin’ gowns and tea-gowns and dinner gowns and fussin’ with cameras and pianolas and lectures on every subject under heaven. And their work amongst the poor, and makin’ more than a thousand calls and receivin’ the same. Good land! what time do they have for the Rose Act?

Josiah. They don’t have any time for it, I always said so.

Samantha. And won’t you own up, Josiah, that rich wimmen and poor wimmen do harder work than to drop a little slip of paper onto the pole once or twice a year?

Josiah. (Looking very good natured). Yes, Samantha, we men know that hain’t no harder on ’em than mailin’ a letter. If I dast, I’d tell you the real reason why we male statesmen oppose wimmins’ votin’, but I dassen’t tell, it is a state secret, jealously guarded by us male law-makers.

Samantha. I wish you would tell me, Josiah. Men’s talk on this subject is so strange and queer I’d love to know the real truth.

Josiah. (Firmly). And I’d love to tell you, Samantha, but I dassen’t. We male men have guarded that political secret as we have the very apples in our eyes. (Shaking his head solemnly). No, as much store I set by you, Samantha, I don’t dast to tell you.

(Samantha sits thinking deeply with her fingers on her forehead, then her face brightens up and she says gently). I thought, Josiah, that mebby you’d like to have me put on the tea-kittle and git a little lunch, we eat supper ruther early.

Josiah. (Heartily). Yes, I would like it, one of your good lunches would go to the spot, I guess I will tell you after all. But remember it is in strict confidence. We male men oppose wimmens’ votin’ because we want to keep the power in our own hands, and kinder boss round, and we talk about the hardships of wimmens’ votin’ and call ’em angels and so on jest as the doctor gives morphine to his patients to quiet ’em, and keep ’em still. But don’t you tell for your life, Samantha Allen. If it wuz known in high political circles that I’d let the cat out of the bag, I’d no but I’d be imprisoned or exiled as a traitor and political informer.

Samantha. No, I won’t git you into any trouble, Josiah. I’d mistrusted that wuz it for some time, but didn’t know it for certain till now.

Josiah. Well, don’t you let on to Miss Gowdey or any other woman if you want me to keep a hull skin. And don’t you think it is time to hang on the tea-kittle?