To this I answered: 

“I know your father well and I don’t believe he would care a damn!”

I got up suddenly, as if going to the door, at which there was a sound of a scuffle in the corridor.

Miss Miller (alarmed and getting up):  “What was that noise?  Can any one have been in the passage?  Could they have heard us?  Let us shut the door.”

Margot:  “No, don’t shut the door, it’s so hot and we shan’t be able to talk alone again.”

Miss Miller (relieved and sitting down):  “You are very good. ...  I must think carefully over what you have said.”

Margot:  “Anyhow, tell your major that I know your father; he is really fond of me.”

Miss Miller:  “Oh, yes, I heard him ask your father if he would exchange you for us.”

Margot:  “That’s only his chaff; he is devoted to you.  But what he likes about me is my dash:  nothing your papa admires so much as courage.  If the major has pluck enough to carry you off to Edinburgh, marry you in a registrar’s office and come back and tell your family the same day, he will forgive everything, give you a glorious allowance and you’ll be happy ever after! ...  Now, my dear, I must go.”

I got up very slowly, and, putting my hands on her shoulders, said: 

“Pull up your socks, Amy!”

I need hardly say the passage was deserted when I opened the door.  I went downstairs, took up the Scotsman and found Sir William writing in the hall.  He was grumpy and restless and at last, putting down his pen, he came up to me and said, in his broad Scotch accent: 

“Margy, will you go round the garden with me?”

“Margy”:  “Yes, if we can sit down alone and have a good talk.”

Sir William (delighted):  “What about the summerhouse?”

“Margy”:  “All right, I’ll run up and put on my hat and meet you here.”

When we got to the summer-house he said: 

“Margy, my daughter Amy’s in love with a pauper.”

“Margy”:  “What does that matter?”

Sir William:  “He’s not at all clever.”

“Margy”:  “How do you know?”

Sir William:  “What do you mean?”

“Margy”:  “None of us are good judges of the people we dislike.”

Sir William (cautiously):  “I would much like your advice on all this affair and I want you to have a word with my girl Amy and tell her just what you think on the matter.”

“Margy”:  “I have.”

Sir William:  “What did she say to you?”

“Margy”:  “Really, Sir William, would you have me betray confidences?”

Sir William:  “Surely you can tell me what you said, anyway, without betraying her.”

“Margy” (looking at him steadily):  “Well, what do you suppose you would say in the circumstances?  If a well-brought-up girl told you that she was in love with a man that her parents disliked, a man who was unable to keep her and with no prospects...”