DAVID. It would be very like you. And there's that other matter: say
not a syllable about our having a reason for sitting up late to-
night. When she says it's bed-time, just all pretend we're not
sleepy.

ALICK. Exactly, and when--

[Here MAGGIE enters, and all three are suddenly engrossed in the
dambrod. We could describe MAGGIE at great length. But what is the
use? What you really want to know is whether she was good-looking.
No, she was not. Enter MAGGIE, who is not good-looking. When this is
said, all is said. Enter MAGGIE, as it were, with her throat cut from
ear to ear. She has a soft Scotch voice and a more resolute manner
than is perhaps fitting to her plainness; and she stops short at
sight of JAMES sprawling unconsciously in the company chair.]

MAGGIE. James, I wouldn't sit on the fine chair.

JAMES. I forgot again.

[But he wishes she had spoken more sharply. Even profanation of the
fine chair has not roused her. She takes up her knitting, and they
all suspect that she knows what they have been talking about.]

MAGGIE. You're late, David, it's nearly bed-time.

DAVID [finding the subject a safe one]. I was kept late at the public
meeting.

ALICK [glad to get so far away from Galashiels]. Was it a good