MARY. O yes! his mind is wellnigh gone. He will sit for hours
as you see him, and never speak nor stir but at the touch of
Will's hand or the sound of Will's name.

LESLIE. It is so good to sit beside you. By and by it will be
always like this. You will not let me speak to the Deacon? You
are fast set upon speaking yourself? I could be so eloquent,
Mary - I would touch him. I cannot tell you how I fear to trust
my happiness to any one else - even to you!

MARY. He must hear of my good fortune from none but me. And
besides, you do not understand. We are not like families, we
Brodies. We are so clannish, we hold so close together.

LESLIE. You Brodies, and your Deacon!

OLD BRODIE. Deacon of his craft, sir - Deacon of the Wrights -
my son! If his mother - his mother - had but lived to see!

MARY. You hear how he runs on. A word about my brother and he
catches it. 'Tis as if he were awake in his poor blind way to
all the Deacon's care for him and all the Deacon's kindness to
me. I believe he only lives in the thought of the Deacon.
There, it is not so long since I was one with him. But indeed I
think we are all Deacon-mad, we Brodies. Are we not, daddie
dear?

BRODIE (WITHOUT, AND ENTERING). You are a mighty magistrate,
Procurator, but you seem to have met your match.