"I have every right to be unforgiving. Markham ruined my life. And do you think I'll let you marry Rupert--the son of that woman. No! Marry him, and I leave what money I have to Miss Pewsey."
"You can if you like, Aunt Sophia. I don't want your money."
"Reflect," said Miss Wharf violently. "I have a thousand a year. Half of that goes to a distant relative, and the remainder you shall have if you will give this man up. Five hundred a year is not to be thrown away."
"I cannot give Rupert up," said Olivia firmly.
"Think girl," pleaded Miss Wharf, her face becoming red and wrinkled with the violence of her passion, "there are other men who love you. Young Walker would make you a good husband, and Lady Jabe is most anxious for the match."
"I like Chris," said Olivia, "and I have known him all my life. But I can't marry him. I want a master when I marry."
"Then take Clarence Burgh," said Miss Wharf, "he will be your master."
"No. He's a brute."
"He's a man--much more of a man than Rupert Ainsleigh."
"I deny that," said Olivia fiercely.