gliffs, ye ken.

LESLIE. I suppose so. We can all be shaken for a time; but not, I think,
in our friends. We are not deceived in them; in the few that we admit
into our hearts.

MARY. Never in these.

LESLIE. We know these (_to BRODIE_), and we think the world of them.

BRODIE (_at back_). We are more acquainted with each other's tailors,
believe me. You, Leslie, are a very pleasant creature. My uncle Lawson
is the Procurator-Fiscal. I--what am I? I am the Deacon of the Wrights;
my ruffles are generally clean; and you think the world of me. Bravo!

LESLIE. Ay, and I think the world of you.

BRODIE (_at back, pointing to LAWSON_). Ask him.

LAWSON. Hoot-toot. A wheen nonsense: an honest man's an honest man, and
a randy thief's a randy thief, and neither mair nor less. Mary, my lamb,
it's time you were hame, and had your beauty sleep.

MARY. Do you not come with us?

LAWSON. I gang the ither gate, my lamb. (_LESLIE helps MARY on with her
cloak, and they say farewell at back. BRODIE, for the first time, comes
front with LAWSON._) Sae ye've consented?

BRODIE. As you see.

LAWSON. Ye'll can pay it back?

BRODIE. I will.

LAWSON. And how? That's what I'm wonderin' to mysel'.

BRODIE. Ay, God knows that.

MARY. Come, Will.

SCENE II

LESLIE, LAWSON (_wrapping up_)

LESLIE. I wonder what ails Brodie?

LAWSON. How should I ken? What should I ken that ails him?

LESLIE. He seemed angry even with you.

LAWSON (_impatient_). Hoot awa'!

LESLIE. Of course, I know. But you see, on the very day when our
engagement is announced, even the best of men may be susceptible. You
yourself seem not quite pleased.

LAWSON (_with great irritation_). I'm perfectly pleased. I'm perfectly
delighted. If I werena an auld man, I'd be just beside mysel' wi'
happiness.

LESLIE. Well, I only fancied ...

LAWSON. Ye had nae possible excuse to fancy. Fancy? Perfect trash and
nonsense. Look at yersel'. Ye look like a ghaist, ye're white-like,
ye're black aboot the een; and do you find me deavin' ye wi' fancies? Or
William Brodie either? I'll say that for him.

LESLIE. 'Tis not sorrow that alters my complexion; I've something else
on hand. Come, I'll tell you, under seal. I've not been in bed till
daylight for a week.

LAWSON. Weel, there's nae sense in the like o' that.

LESLIE. Gad, but there is, though. Why, Procurator, this is town's
business; this is a municipal affair; I'm a public character. Why? Ah,
here