John.  If you want me, Maggie.  The longer you keep them waiting, the more they think of you.

Maggie.  When are you to announce that we’re to be married, John?

John.  I won’t be long.  You’ve waited a year more than you need have done, so I think it’s your due I should hurry things now.

Maggie.  I think it’s noble of you.

John.  Not at all, Maggie; the nobleness has been yours in waiting so patiently.  And your brothers would insist on it at any rate.  They’re watching me like cats with a mouse.

Maggie.  It’s so little I’ve done to help.

John.  Three hundred pounds.

Maggie.  I’m getting a thousand per cent for it.

John.  And very pleased I am you should think so, Maggie.

Maggie.  Is it terrible hard to you, John?

John.  It’s not hard at all.  I can say truthfully, Maggie, that all, or nearly all, I’ve seen of you in these six years has gone to increase my respect for you.

Maggie.  Respect!

John.  And a bargain’s a bargain.

Maggie.  If it wasn’t that you’re so glorious to me, John, I would let you off.

[There is a gleam in his eye, but he puts it out.]

John.  In my opinion, Maggie, we’ll be a very happy pair.

[She accepts this eagerly.]

Maggie.  We know each other so well, John, don’t we?

John.  I’m an extraordinary queer character, and I suppose nobody knows me well except myself; but I know you, Maggie, to the very roots of you.

[She magnanimously lets this remark alone.]

Maggie.  And it’s not as if there was any other woman you—­fancied more, John.

John.  There’s none whatever.

Maggie.  If there ever should be—­oh, if there ever should be!  Some woman with charm.

John.  Maggie, you forget yourself.  There couldn’t be another woman once I was a married man.

Maggie.  One has heard of such things.

John.  Not in Scotsmen, Maggie; not in Scotsmen.

Maggie.  I’ve sometimes thought, John, that the difference between us and the English is that the Scotch are hard in all other respects but soft with women, and the English are hard with women but soft in all other respects.

John.  You’ve forgotten the grandest moral attribute of a Scotsman,
Maggie, that he’ll do nothing which might damage his career.

Maggie.  Ah, but John, whatever you do, you do it so tremendously; and if you were to love, what a passion it would be.

John.  There’s something in that, I suppose.

Maggie.  And then, what could I do?  For the desire of my life now, John, is to help you to get everything you want, except just that I want you to have me, too.