Mr. R. He may be safe; but the probabilities are that he is lost.
Mary. Oh! do not say that again. I cannot and will not believe it. (Goes to the hammock, and bends over it.)
Mr. R. (approaching Mary in an insinuating way). My dear—madam, if anything should happen to your husband, remember (smiling) that you have a warm friend in me. I will give you as good a home as there is on the river, and take your child, too. Yes! yes! I’ll take your child.
Mary (turning suddenly upon him). Give me a home? Take my child? What do you mean?
Mr. R. Why, I mean that I’ll marry you!
Mary. Marry me? Who gave you the right to say you’d marry me, or take my baby? William’s child! How dare you!
Mr. R. I don’t see as you can help yourself. You need the protection of a man. You can’t have the boat; and you certainly can’t get a living around here, with your hands tied by that young one. And you’re too pretty a woman—(Tries to take her hand.)
Mary. (indignantly). Sir! you’ve said enough! You may own my boat, and you may have the power to take her from me; but you cannot have the wife of Captain William Miller. I tell you, sir, that I would rather beg my way home from door to door, with my child in my arms,—yes, I would starve,—before I would be the wife of any man but my own husband. Dead or alive, it makes no difference to me. He is still my husband!
Mr. R. (aside). Those down-East women beat the world. The spunk they show—Yankee grit they call it—it’s amazing! But, Gad! it makes her look handsomer than ever. (To her, insinuatingly) You may change your mind; but, whether you do or not, remember that I will always be your friend. (Smiling.)
Mary. Sir! I shall never change my mind; and I forbid you ever to mention this subject to me again. I want no such friendship as yours. Good-morning! (Turns from him, and goes to the hammock.)