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 prosecution?]
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 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 ains.
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?
Jean. I thocht ye would hear me. Ye think little o’ me; but it’s mebbe a braw thing for you that I think sae muckle o’ William Brodie . . . ill as it sets me.
Brodie. [You don’t know what is on my mind, Jeannie, else you would forgive me.] Bow Street?