Sept. Well, then, I said you were very beautiful.
Kate. Oh, pshaw! not that.
Sept. Yes, I did; and I meant it; that you were rich, admired and courted; that your presence here had been like the coming of a new star in a dark night, to light the path of us hardy fisherman; that—that—
Kate. O father! speak to him.
Ray. Well, Sept., I’m willing to obey; but what shall I say?—that I fear the presence of my daughter has made a young man forget his lowly station?
Sept. Yes, you may say that: it has. It has made him forget that he is poor, rough, and untutored,—that there are social bonds which hold the rich within their circles, where the poor may not enter. He has forgot all, all this. For the manhood within him—the love of the beautiful implanted in his breast—has burst all slavish bonds, and his heart has forced from his lips the words, ‘I love you!’
Ray. And you have said this to my daughter?
Sept. I have: I could not help it.
Ray. Base,—base,—base! you have taken advantage of having saved my daughter’s life—
Kate. Hold, father! you are mistaken. He has taken no advantage: I do not believe he ever thought of it. It was I who remembered that when I said, ‘Sept., I am glad to hear this; for I dearly, truly love you.’