Martin.  Indeed there is something in that.

Sandford enters suddenly.

Sandford.  You well-fed and unprofitable grooms.

And so on as printed, until we come to Margaret’s reply to Sandford’s speech ending [page 156]:—­

Since my ["our”] old master quitted all his rights here.

Margaret.  Alas!  I am sure I find it so. 
            Ah!  Mr. Sandford,
            This is no dwelling now for me,
            As in Sir Walter’s days it was. 
            I can remember when this house hath been
            A sanctuary to a poor orphan girl
            From evil tongues and injuries of the world. 
            Now every day
            I must endure fresh insult from the scorn
            Of Woodvil’s friends, the uncivil jests
            And free discourses of the dissolute men
            That haunt this mansion, making me their mirth.

Further on in the same dialogue comes the following, after the line in
Margaret’s speech [page 158, line 18],

His love, which ["that”] long has been upon the wane.

And therefore ’tis men seeing this
Have ta’en their cue and think it now their time
To slur me with their coward disrespects,
Unworthy usages, who, while John lov’d
And while one breath’d
That thought not much to take the orphan’s part,
And durst as soon
Hold dalliance with the chafed lion’s paw,
Or play with fire, or utter blasphemy,
As think a disrespectful thought of Margaret.

Sandford.  I am too mean a man,
            Being but a servant in the family,
            To be the avenger of a Lady’s wrongs,
            And such a Lady! but I verily think
            That I should cleave the rudesby to the earth
            With my good oaken staff, and think no harm,
            That offer’d you an insult, I being by. 
            I warrant you, young Master would forgive,
            And thank me for the deed,
            Tho’ he I struck were one of his dearest friends.

Margaret.  O Mr. Sandford, you must think it,
            I know, as sad undecency in me
            To trouble thus your friendly hearing
            With my complaints. 
            But I have now no female friend
            In all this house, adviser none, or friend
            To council with, and when I view your face,
            I call to mind old times,
            And how these things were different once
            When your old friend and master rul’d this house. 
            Nay, never weep; why, man, I trust that yet
            Sir Walter shall return one day
            And thank you for these tears,
            And loving services to his poor orphan. 
            For me, I am determined what to do.

And so on as printed down to Margaret’s line [page 158, line 3 from foot]:—­