Beatrice removed her arm in a flaming temper. "Must I indeed?" said she, flashing up into righteous anger. "Then I won't!"
"Beatrice!"
"I won't. I have never seen the man, and I don't wish to see him. You have no right to make any arrangements about my marriage without consulting me. You are neither kith nor kin of mine, and I am of age. I deny your right to arrange my future."
"Do you wish to be left to starve?"
"I shall not starve; but I would rather do so, than marry a man of fifty, whom I have never set eyes on."
"If you don't marry Ruck, you'll be a pauper sooner than you expect, my girl. Marry him for my sake?"
"No! You have done as little as you could for me: you have always hated me. I decline."
Alpenny rose in his turn--Beatrice had already risen to her feet--and faced her in a black fury, the more venomous for being quiet. "You shall marry him!"
"I shall not."
They faced one another, both angry, both determined, both bent upon gaining the victory. But if Alpenny had an iron will, Beatrice had youth and outraged womanhood on her side, and in the end his small cruel eyes fell before her flashing orbs.