MARY. Why are you so cross with me? Oh, Will, you have forgot your sister! Remember, dear, that I have nobody but you. It’s your own fault, Will, if you’ve taught me to come to you for kindness, for I always found it. And I mean you shall be kind to me again. I know you will, for this is my great need, and the day I’ve missed my mother sorest. Just a nice look, dear, and a soft tone in your voice, to give me courage, for I can tell you nothing till I know that you’re my own brother once again. BRODIE. If you’d take a hint, you’d put it off till to-morrow. But I suppose you won’t. On, then, I’m listening. I’m listening! MARY. Mr. Leslie has asked me to be his wife. BRODIE. He has, has he? MARY. And I have consented. BRODIE. And . . . ? MARY. You can say that to me? And that is all you have to say? BRODIE. O no, not all. MARY. Speak out, sir. I am not afraid. BRODIE. I suppose you want my consent? MARY. Can you ask? BRODIE. I didn’t know. You seem to have got on pretty well without it so far. MARY. O shame on you! shame on you! BRODIE. Perhaps you may be able to do without it altogether. I hope so. For you’ll never have it. . . . Mary! . . . I hate to see you look like that. If I could say anything else, believe me, I would say it. But I have said all; every word is spoken; there’s the end. MARY. It shall not be the end. You owe me explanation; and I’ll have it. BRODIE. Isn’t my ‘No’ enough, Mary? MARY. It might be enough for me; but it is not, and it cannot be, enough for him. He has asked me to be his wife; he tells me his happiness is in my hands—poor hands, but they shall not fail him, if my poor heart should break! If he has chosen and set his hopes upon me, of all women in the world, I shall find courage somewhere to be worthy of the choice. And I dare you to leave this room until you tell me all your thoughts—until you prove that this is good and right. BRODIE. Good and right? They are strange words, Mary. I mind the time when it was good and right to be your father’s daughter and your brother’s sister . . . Now! . . . MARY. Have I changed? Not even in thought. My father, Walter says, shall live and die with us. He shall only have gained another son. And you—you know what he thinks of you; you know what I would do for you. BRODIE. Give him up. MARY. I have told you: not without a reason. BRODIE. You must. MARY. I will not. BRODIE. What if I told you that you could only compass your happiness and his at the price of my ruin? MARY. Your ruin? BRODIE. Even so. MARY. Ruin! BRODIE. It has an ugly sound, has it not? MARY. O Willie, what have you done? What have you done? What have you done? BRODIE. I cannot tell you, Mary. But you may trust me. You must give up this Leslie . . . and at once. It is to save me. MARY. I would die for you, dear, you know that. But I cannot be false to him. Even for you, I cannot be false to him.