Sir William.
I!
Rose.
Don't you love him now, the more? [His head droops a little, and his hands wander to the brooch which secures his plaid.] Let me take your shawl from you. You would catch cold when you go out——
[He allows her to remove the plaid, protesting during the process.]
Sir William.
I'll not trouble ye, ma'am. Much obleeged to ye, but I'll not trouble ye. [Rising.] I'll not trouble ye—-
[He walks away to the fireplace, and up the room. She folds the plaid and lays it upon the sofa. He looks round—speaking in an altered tone.] My dear, gypsying doesn't seem to be such a good trade with ye, as it used to be by all accounts——
[The center door opens and Avonia enters boldly, in the dress of a burlesque prince—cotton-velvet shirt, edged with bullion trimming, a cap, white tights, ankle boots, etc.]