You are acting under an impulse, Maggie, and I can’t take advantage of it. Think the matter over, and we’ll speak about it in the morning.
MAGGIE. No, I can’t go through it again. It ends to-night and now. Good luck, John.
[She is immediately submerged in the sea that surges through the door, bringing much wreckage with it. In a moment the place is so full that another cupful could not find standing room. Some slippery ones are squeezed upwards and remain aloft as warnings. JOHN has jumped on to the stair, and harangues the flood vainly like another Canute. It is something about freedom and noble minds, and, though unheard, goes to all heads, including the speaker’s. By the time he is audible sentiment has him for her own.]
JOHN. But, gentlemen, one may have too much even of freedom [No, no.] Yes, Mr. Adamson. One may want to be tied. [Never, never.] I say yes, Willie Cameron; and I have found a young lady who I am proud to say is willing to be tied to me. I’m to be married. [Uproar.] Her name’s Miss Wylie. [Transport.] Quiet; she’s here now. [Frenzy.] She was here! Where are you, Maggie? [A small voice—‘I’m here.’ A hundred great voices—‘Where—where—where?’ The small voice—‘I’m so little none of you can see me.‘]
[Three men, name of Wylie, buffet their way forward.]
DAVID. James, father, have you grip of her?
ALICK. We’ve got her.
DAVID. Then hoist her up.
[The queer little elated figure is raised aloft. With her fingers she can just touch the stars. Not unconscious of the nobility of his behaviour, the hero of the evening points an impressive finger at her.]
JOHN. Gentlemen, the future Mrs. John Shand! [Cries of ‘Speech, speech!’] No, no, being a lady she can’t make a speech, but—-