John.  Find me out?

Maggie.  However careful a man is, his wife always finds out his failings.

John.  I don’t know, Maggie, to what failings you refer.

[The Cowcaddens Club has burst its walls, and is pouring this way to raise the new Member on its crest.  The first wave hurls itself against the barber’s shop with cries of ‘Shand, Shand, Shand.’  For a moment, John stems the torrent by planting his back against the door.]

You are acting under an impulse, Maggie, and I can’t take advantage of it.  Think the matter over, and we’ll speak about it in the morning.

Maggie.  No, I can’t go through it again.  It ends to-night and now.  Good luck, John.

[She is immediately submerged in the sea that surges through the door, bringing much wreckage with it.  In a moment the place is so full that another cupful could not find standing room.  Some slippery ones are squeezed upwards and remain aloft as warnings.  John has jumped on to the stair, and harangues the flood vainly like another Canute.  It is something about freedom and noble minds, and, though unheard, goes to all heads, including the speaker’s.  By the time he is audible sentiment has him for her own.]

John.  But, gentlemen, one may have too much even of freedom [No, no.] Yes, Mr. Adamson.  One may want to be tied. [Never, never.] I say yes, Willie Cameron; and I have found a young lady who I am proud to say is willing to be tied to me.  I’m to be married. [Uproar.] Her name’s Miss Wylie. [Transport.] Quiet; she’s here now. [Frenzy.] She was here!  Where are you, Maggie? [A small voice—­’I’m here.’  A hundred great voices—­’Where—­where—­where?’ The small voice—­’I’m so little none of you can see me.’]

[Three men, name of Wylie, buffet their way forward.]

David.  James, father, have you grip of her?

Alick.  We’ve got her.

David.  Then hoist her up.

[The queer little elated figure is raised aloft.  With her fingers she can just touch the stars.  Not unconscious of the nobility of his behaviour, the hero of the evening points an impressive finger at her.]

John.  Gentlemen, the future Mrs. John Shand! [Cries of ’Speech, speech!’] No, no, being a lady she can’t make a speech, but—–­

[The heroine of the evening surprises him.]

Maggie.  I can make a speech, and I will make a speech, and it’s in two words, and they’re these [holding out her arms to enfold all the members of the Cowcaddens Club]—­My Constituents! [Dementia.]

ACT III

[A few minutes ago the Comtesse de la Briere, who has not recently been in England, was shown into the London home of the Shands.  Though not sufficiently interested to express her surprise in words, she raised her eyebrows on finding herself in a charming room; she has presumed that the Shand scheme of decoration would be as impossible as themselves.