Ray. Your brother. Confound it, you’re all crazy! Do you want to drive me mad?
Kate. He is not my brother.
Ray. But I say he is: every circumstance goes to prove it,—“The Diana,” the wreck, the child found upon the sands. I tell you he must be my son.
John Gale. Now, what’s the use of talking about the wreck? Wa’n’t there two on ’em? Couldn’t there have been a baby born on board? Couldn’t your wife have made a mistake in the vessel? I don’t see your proof. She might have sailed in “The Gladiator.” (Grap. rushes down, C.)
Grap. “Ze Gladiator?” What for you say “Ze Gladiator”?
John Gale. Hallo! who’s this?
March. The old Frenchman’s caught.
Mrs. Gale. That plaguy peddler here! Where’s my broom?
March. Hold on, Mother Gale! The old gentleman has done me a service, and I’ll stand by him.