Mrs. Gale. Thank Heaven!
Ray. My daughter! (Takes her from Sept. Mrs. Gale places a chair, C., in which they seat her.)
March. Hurrah for Sept.!
Mrs. Gale. Here, Kitty, March, run for my camphire. (March takes a flat-iron from the fireplace. Kitty runs off, L., and brings in a bucket of water. They rush around the stage two or three times. March, finding the iron hot, plunges it into the bucket of water, L. Have iron hot so it will sizzle in water.) Land sakes, what are you doing? ye’ll set the house afire.
March. Darn your old irons: there’s another blister.
Kate. Don’t be alarmed, there’s nothing the matter. I accidentally slipped off the rock; but, thanks to dear Sept., I am quite safe.
Mrs. Gale. Come right straight up to your room, and change your clothes. You’ll ketch your death a cold. Come right along. (Leads Kate off, R.)
Ray. (seizing Sept.’s hand). Sept. Gale, Heaven bless you! you’ve done a noble deed. (Exit, R.)
Sept. Well, well, here’s a jolly spree about just nothing at all! But, I say, March, isn’t she splendid? Do you know, when I pulled her from the water into my little craft—I couldn’t help it—I felt as though she belonged to me. Yes: rich, young, beautiful as she is, but for the arm of the rough sailor she would now be sleeping her long sleep beneath the waves.
March. Well, I dunno about her belonging to you. All the fish you pull out of the water are yours; but a woman isn’t exactly a fish.