JEAN. I dinna ken your name, sir, nor yet whae ye are; but this
is a very poor employ for ony gentleman - it sets ill wi' ony
gentleman to cast my shame in my teeth.

HUNT. Lord love you, my dear, that ain't my line of country.
Suppose you're not married and churched a hundred thousand times,
what odds to Jerry Hunt? Jerry, my Pamela Prue, is a cove as
might be your parent; a cove renowned for the ladies' friend [and
he's dead certain to be on your side]. What I can't get over is
this: here's this Mr. Deacon Brodie doing the genteel at home,
and leaving a nice young 'oman like you - as a cove may say - to
take it out on cold potatoes. That's what I can't get over, Mrs.
Watt. I'm a family man myself; and I can't get over it.

JEAN. And whae said that to ye? They lee'd whatever. I get
naething but guid by him; and I had nae richt to gang to his
house; and O, I just ken I've been the ruin of him!

HUNT. Don't you take on, Mrs. Watt. Why, now I hear you piping
up for him, I begin to think a lot of him myself. I like a cove
to be open-handed and free.

JEAN. Weel, sir, and he's a' that.

HUNT. Well, that shows what a wicked world this is. Why, they
told me - . Well, well, 'here's the open 'and and the 'appy
'art.' And how much, my dear - speaking as a family man - now,
how much might your gentleman friend stand you in the course of a
year?