Douglas. You’re right, Mary. ’Tis your happiness I seek when I ask you to become my wife. I would not see you throw yourself away upon a poor man, when I have the power to surround you with every comfort, and a heart overflowing with love, that cannot fail to make you happy.
Mary. Enough. You and I can never agree. My answer a year ago was final.
Douglas. Pray reconsider it. If not for my sake, for that of your father.
Mary. Whom you have persistently wooed for the last year. What of him?
Douglas. He has met with reverse of fortune. He is now a poor man, so poor that, but for my friendly aid, he would have no home to shelter him.
Mary. (Rising.) Your friendly aid! ’Twas you who led him into speculation; you who, by crafty advice, swept away his little store of hard-earned savings; you, who now stand over his home ready to crush it if I, his daughter, dare refuse you my hand!
Douglas. Nay, Mary, you are harsh. Calm yourself. Out of my deep love for you I have endeavored to better his worldly condition. If I have failed in my designs—
Mary. You have failed, Henry Douglas. My father is in your power, ’tis true. You can at any moment drive him from his home. In that design you have triumphed. But beyond that you have miserably failed. Though my father should curse me, should drive me from my home for my disobedience, I will never marry you—never!
Douglas. Ah, you’ll think better of it, Mary. I have spent a great deal of money to help him. He owes me a large sum. With you my wife, I could not be hard with him. Without you, I must deal with him justly, man to man, and claim my own.