Douglas. Well, ’pon my word, here’s a confession! Here’s a fine position for the heir of the Douglas name and state. After my unremitting attentions for a year, I am to be thrown aside, like a country bumpkin, at the whim of a girl who don’t know her own mind! No, no, Mary, I shall not release you. You’ll think better of it to-morrow.
Mary. Yes, better, for my resolve will be stronger.
Douglas. And that resolve is—
Mary. Never to marry you, Henry Douglas. It is best we have no misunderstanding now.
Douglas. It is, indeed. So, so! While I have been absent, my place has been taken in your heart by that fool, Ned Hartshorn.
Mary. Mr. Douglas!
Douglas. Yes; it’s as plain as the sun at noonday. Stunned by a slight blow, he made that the pretext for a long season of wasting sickness, that he might secure your attention, that he might bill and coo in your face, excite your compassion, and awake in your heart an answer to his love. The hypocrite! With his youth and strength, the blow he received should not have kept him from his work a day. ’Twas a crafty trick.
Mary. Mr. Douglas!
Douglas. Ay, a crafty trick. But it shall not succeed. I have your promise; I have your father’s consent. I will not release you.