Merton. Oh—yes….
Kirstin. You see, I have no one to please but myself now that father's gone. He died five years ago, and I worked hard ever since and made money, and saved up. I sold my sheep, and when you was with us you told me you weren't rich, and wanted more money, so I thought I'd come to London and bring you some.
Merton [staggered]. Bring me—some?
Kirstin. Yes, I've brought you £10,000.
Merton. £10,000!
Kirstin. Yes, it's in here [lifting bundle from round her neck and putting it on table]—all in £10 notes. I tied them up in bundles myself. And I've never left it off me till this minute, night or day. A rough fellow nearly got it away from me on the road to the railway, but I soon sent him about his business. [Taps her pocket and shows end of revolver].
Merton [gasps—tries to recover himself]. It's very good of you, Kirstin, to bring it to me, but—but—I can't take that money, you know. I really can't.
Kirstin. You can't take it! But you must—it's for you—that's why I worked for it all the time—for you to have it and be rich. I've got plenty for myself. I don't want it—I've got a lot sewn into my belt.
Merton. But it's impossible! Don't you understand?
Kirstin. Impossible? Why?