The girl tottered where she stood, and stretched out a hand to steady herself against the mantelpiece.
Preston had made two steps towards the door, but a furious gesture from the farmer had been more than he dared disobey, and he stayed where he was, still twirling his hat in his hands.
The old man’s face grew livid as he read; then, with a muttered curse, he crushed the paper in his hand and tossed it into the fire.
Bess made no effort to save her property; the flames curled round it and swallowed it at once. Her lips had parted as though she would have cried out, but no sound came from them; she only leant a little more heavily against the mantelpiece and her face went white.
Her father made a step towards her, and pushed her into a chair.
For an instant he glared at her; then slowly putting his hands in his pockets, he turned to the crest-fallen suitor.
“Ye ain’t pressin’ enough, man!” laughed he unpleasantly. “Try her again. She won’t say ye nay. That’s on’y coyness. Oh, no, she won’t say ye nay.”
And he slapped Preston loudly on the back, laughing again, and so passed back into the kitchen, still muttering, “Oh, no, she won’t say ye nay.”
But still Farmer Benson reckoned without his host.
Bess sat still, and the young man looked at her askance from time to time.[time.]