Lucy. No, Fred: I am convinced a union between us would be unhappy.
Fred. But give me some reason, Lucy. You love another?
Lucy. No.
Fred. Then why reject me? I love you truly, devotedly. Become my wife; and, if you do not love me now, I will find some way to make you.
Lucy. No, Fred: I repeat it is impossible. My father needs my care. Were he well, I think he would not sanction it, and—and—
Fred. Lucy, you are not just to me or your father. He needs your care: he needs something more than that. I know how his small fortune has gradually dwindled away, that his house is mortgaged, that he has not a penny in the world. Become my wife, Lucy. I am rich. Give me the power to aid him?
Lucy. No, no, Fred: better as it is. Dilly, Aunt Loring, I, will work night and day to gain for him every comfort.
Fred. But think, Lucy. The best you can do will only make him comfortable for a little while. With a pressing creditor like Hartshorn, this house must at last be given up.
Lucy. I know it must, I know it must. Heaven help my poor father!
Fred. I offer you my hand: accept, and to-morrow the mortgage shall be paid, principal and interest. See, Lucy, I’m at your feet. I love you truly, sincerely.