Min. Then forgive my little silly fancies, Mr. Hill; but, before I listen to your suggestion, I must have the very clearest proof that your position is, in every way, fully assured.
Ch. Mercenary little donkey! I will not condescend to proof. I renounce her altogether. (Rings bell.)
Enter Maggie with Angus and Mrs. Macfarlane. Angus has his arm round her waist.
Ch. (suddenly seeing her). Maggie, come here. Angus, do take your arm from round that girl’s waist. Stand back, and don’t you listen. Maggie, three months ago I told you that I loved you passionately; to-day I tell you that I love you as passionately as ever; I may add that I am still a rich man. Can you oblige me with a postage-stamp? (Maggie gives him a stamp from her pocket—he sticks it on to his letter.) What do you say? I must trouble you for an immediate answer, as this is not pleasure—it’s business.
Mag. Oh, sir, ye’re ower late. Oh, Maister Cheviot, if I’d only ken’d it before! Oh, sir, I love ye right weel; the bluid o’ my hairt is nae sae dear to me as thou. (Sobbing on his shoulder.) Oh, Cheviot, my ain auld love! my ain auld love!
Ang. (aside). Puir lassie, it just dra’s the water from my ee to hear her. Oh, mither, mither! my hairt is just breaking. (Sobs on Mrs. Macfarlane’s shoulder.)
Ch. But why is it too late? You say that you love me. I offer to marry you. My station in life is at least equal to your own. What is to prevent our union?
Mag. (wiping her eyes). Oh, sir, ye’re unco guid to puir little Maggie, but ye’re too late; for she’s placed the matter in her solicitor’s hands, and he tells her that an action for breach will just bring damages to the tune of a thousand pound. There’s a laddie waiting outside noo, to serve the bonnie writ on ye! (Turns affectionately to Angus.)
Ch. (falling sobbing on to sofa). No one will marry me. There is a curse upon me—a curse upon me. No one will marry me—no, not one!