MÀIRI. Sandy.... Why should I have thought it was him? He does not know where I live, and, besides, he wouldn’t come if he knew, except maybe to wound my heart deeper without knowing what he was doing.... Why did I tell mother? I can’t explain everything to her. She cannot understand. Did Sandy’s mother not tell me that he is not in my station of life, and that she would be disgraced if he married a servant--a servant in his mother’s house. Oh! it’s her that wounded my pride--her thinking she was better than me! a shopkeeper’s wife (as if that were something great) and me a real Mackay, with lords and bards and great chiefs in my line.... Oh! if I only had the money, she wouldn’t despise me so. But what’s money? Money will not make one a lady.... I must forget, forget what was--forget Sandy and his mother and the rest. WIDOW (_enters_). Sandy was asking when you will be going away. (_Sighs._) I said I wasn’t very sure. He’s wondering you haven’t been down to see his wife who was so ill last winter. Haste you, my dear, and be calling on her at once. She has been a good kind friend to me, Màiri. MÀIRI. I’ll go down just now, mother. But don’t be speaking about me going away. (_Smiles._) I have made up my mind to stay here with you always after this. You’re getting old and canna’ be left alone. WIDOW. I wish you could aye be here, as you say. (_Sighs._) But we’re too poor, Màiri. It canna’ be. We must bear our burdens in this world though our hearts should be breaking. MÀIRI. I have a plan, mother, that will bring us money, and I’m going to give you a little surprise. WIDOW. How can you make money here, lassie? Now, tell me that. MÀIRI. Keeping visitors. Letting the house. I’ve thought of it for a long time, and that’s why I brought you things for the house--the waxcloth, the new blankets, and the rest. WIDOW (_amazed_). Keeping veesitors? MÀIRI. I saw how it was done last summer when we were holidaying near Oban. Oh! the people in the west are clever at making the money in the summer. WIDOW. Don’t tell me they’re cleverer in the west than in the north. Who ever heard of such a thing? They haven’t such land as our land. MÀIRI. I know a widow near Oban--a Macdougall she is. Her son has a bicycle and her daughter has a piano. The croft is a poorer croft than our croft, and they have a slated roof, a porch at the door, registered grates, water taps in the kitchen, and a carpet in the best room. WIDOW. How did they manage it? MÀIRI. The visitors, of course. WIDOW. The veesitors!