Corrig Are you reckonin’ on the marriage of Mister Hardress and Miss Anne Chute?
Hard [Advancing, R.] Mr. Corrigan, you forget yourself.
Mrs. C Leave us, Hardress, a while. [Hardress retires, R.] Now, Mr. Corrigan, state, in as few words as possible, what you demand.
Corrig Mrs. Cregan, ma’am, you depend on Miss Anne Chute’s fortune to pay me the money, but your son does not love the lady, or, if he does, he has a mighty quare way of showing it. He has another girl on hand, and betune the two he’ll come to the ground, and so bedad will I.
Mrs. C That is false—it is a calumny, sir!
Corrig I wish it was, ma’am. D’ye see that light over the lake? your son’s eyes are fixed on it. What would Anne Chute say if she knew that her husband, that is to be, had a mistress beyant—that he slips out every night after you’re all in bed, and like Leandher, barrin’ the wettin’, he sails across to his sweetheart?
Mrs. C Is this the secret of his aversion to the marriage? Fool! fool! what madness, and at such a moment.
Corrig That’s what I say, and no lie in it.
Mrs. C He shall give up this girl—he must!
Corrig I would like to have some security for that. I want, by to-morrow, Anne Chute’s written promise to marry him, or my £8,000.