(raining, outside of Murron's house) William: Good evening, sir. 　　 MacClannough: Ah, young Wallace. Grand soft evening, huh? 　　 William: Ay, is that. I was wondering if I might have a word with your daughter. 　　 MacClannough: What do you want to have a word with her about? 　　 William: Well, ah, Murron, would you like to come and ride with me on this fine evening? 　　 Mrs. MacClannough: In this? You‘re out of your mind. 　　 William: Oh, it‘s good Scottish weather, madam. The rain is fallin‘straight down, well slightly to the side like. 　　 Mrs. MacClannough: She can not go with you. 　　 William: No? 　　 Mrs. MacClannough: No the no, anyway. 　　 William: No the no. 　　 MacClannough: No the no. We‘ll see you later. 　　 Murron: ‘O the weather‘s just fine. It‘s hardly raining. 　　 Mrs. MacClannough: Did you no hear what I said? Now get--Murron. It‘s you she takes after. 　　 William: How did you know me after so long? 　　 Murron: Why, I didn‘t. 　　 William: No? 　　 Murron: It‘s just that I saw you staring at me and I didn‘t know who you were. 　　 William: ‘O sorry, I suppose I was. Are you in the habit of riding off in the rain with strangers? 　　 Murron: It was the best way to make you leave. 　　 William: Well, if I can ever work up the courage to ask you again, I‘ll send you a written warning first. 　　 Murron: ‘O it wouldn‘t do you much good. I can‘t read. 　　 William: Can you not? 　　 Murron: no. 　　 William: Well that‘s something we shall have to remedy, isn‘t it. 　　 Murron: You‘re going to teach me to read, then? 　　 William: Ah, if you like. 　　 Murron: Ay. 　　 William: In what language? 　　 Murron: Are you showing off now? 　　 William: That‘s right. Are you impressed yet? 　　 Murron: No. Why should I be? 　　 William: (in French) Yes. Because every single day I thought about you. Murron: Do that standing on your head and I‘ll be impressed. 　　 William: My kilt may fly up but I‘ll try. 　　 Murron: You certainly didn‘t learn any manners on your travels. 　　 William: I‘m afraid the Romans have far worse manners than I. 　　 Murron: You‘ve been to Rome? 　　 William: Ay, my uncle took me on a pilgrimage. 　　 Murron: What was it like? 　　 William: (in French) Not nearly as beautiful as you. 　　 Murron: What does that mean? 　　 William: Beautiful. But I belong here. 　　 Mrs. MacClannough: Murron, come in now.