JOHN. I have things to say to her, but not before you.

DAVID [sternly]. Go away, Maggie. Leave him to us.

JAMES [who thinks it is about time that he said something]. Yes,
leave him to us.

MAGGIE. No, David, I want to hear what is to become of me; I promise
not to take any side.

[And sitting by the fire she resumes her knitting. The four regard
her as on an evening at The Pans a good many years ago.]

DAVID [barking]. How long has this been going on?

JOHN. If you mean how long has that lady been the apple of my eye,
I'm not sure; but I never told her of it until today.

MAGGIE [thoughtfully and without dropping a stitch]. I think it
wasn't till about six months ago, John, that she began to be very
dear to you. At first you liked to bring in her name when talking to
me, so that I could tell you of any little things I might have heard
she was doing. But afterwards, as she became more and more to you,
you avoided mentioning her name.

JOHN [surprised]. Did you notice that?

MAGGIE [in her old-fashioned way]. Yes.