Jean (who has entered silently during the Deacon’s last words). It’s me, Wullie.
Brodie (turning upon her). What! You here again? (you again!)
Jean. Deacon, I’m unco vexed.
Brodie. Do you know what you do? Do you know what you risk? (Is there nothing—nothing!—will make you spare me this idiotic, wanton persecution?)
Jean. I was wrong to come yestreen; I ken that fine. But the day it’s different; I but to come the day, Deacon, though I ken fine it’s the Sabbath, and I think shame to be seen upon the streets.
Brodie. See here, Jean. You must go now. I’ll come to you to-night; I swear that. But now I’m for the road.
Jean. No’ till you’ve heard me, William Brodie. Do ye think I came to pleasure mysel’, where I’m no’ wanted? I’ve a pride o’ my ain.
Brodie. Jean, I am going now. If you please to stay on alone, in this house of mine, where I wish I could say you are welcome, stay. (Going.)
Jean. It’s the man frae Bow Street.
Brodie. Bow Street?