"Nay, Squire," she retorted sharply, "pray try to praise me to my female friends."
In vain did Mistress Pyncheon admonish her son to be more bold in his wooing.
"You behave like a fool, Oliver," she said meekly.
"But, Mother . . ."
"Go, make yourself pleasing to her ladyship."
"But, Mother . . ."
"I pray you, my son," she retorted with unusual acerbity, "do you want a million or do you not?"
"But, Mother . . ."
"Then go at once and get it, ere that fool Sir Timothy or the odious Boatfield capture it under your very nose."
"But, Mother . . ."