Ellen is clearly smitten with Lochinvar. And who can blame her? He seems so much more handsome, more dashing than her hapless bridegroom, standing there in silent embarrassment while the gallant knight brazenly pays court to his intended. And even though Lochinvar loudly—and somewhat ungallantly—proclaims that there are prettier girls in Scotland, Ellen's evident ardor for the lusty knight remains undimmed. After Lochinvar quaffs down a goblet of celebratory wine, the blushing Ellen gazes at him lovingly, with a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye.
Then it's time for a dance. Lochinvar sweeps Ellen off her feet, his dancing skills eliciting the gushing admiration of the assembled throng. (All expect the poor bridegroom, of course, who can only stand around, pathetically dangling his bonnet and plume.) If he hadn't already done so, Lochinvar has at this point well and truly sealed the deal: Ellen is now his blushing bride. So he whisks her away on his mighty steed in true romantic fashion, with several irate clansmen in hot, but ultimately vain, pursuit.