Mrs. C Contemptible hound, I loathe and despise you!
Corrig I’ve known that fifteen years, but it hasn’t cured my heart ache.
Mrs. C And you would buy my aversion and disgust!
Corrig Just as Anne Chute buys your son, if she knew but all. Can he love his girl beyant, widout haten this heiress he’s obliged to swallow?—ain’t you sthriven to sell him? But you didn’t feel the hardship of being sold till you tried it on yourself.
Mrs. C I beg you, sir, to leave me.
Corrig That’s right, ma’am—think over it, sleep on it. To-morrow, I’ll call for your answer. Good evenin’ kindly.
[Music.—Exit Corrigan, in house, L.
Mrs. C Hardress.
Hard What did he want?
Mrs. C He came to tell me the meaning of yonder light upon Muckross Head.