Sybil did not answer.
“But, to come back to the point from which you started, like the fiery young filly that you are—Sybil, I greatly desire to see you married to some worthy young gentleman whom you can love and I approve.”
“Where can you find such an one, father?” murmured Sybil, with a quick, strange, wild hope springing up in her heart.
What if he should speak of the young lawyer? But that was not likely. He spoke of some one else.
“There is Ernest Godfree. No better match for you in the county. And I’m sure he worships the very ground you walk on.”
Sybil made an angry gesture, exclaiming:
“Then I wish he would have respect enough for the ground he worships to keep himself off it altogether! I hate that man!”
“Well, well, hate is a poor return for love! But we’ll say no more of him. But there’s Captain Pendleton, a brave young officer.”
“I wish his bravery were better employed in fighting the Indians on the frontier instead of besieging our house. I cannot endure that man!”
“Let him pass then! Next there is Charles Hanbury—”