“Indeed,” said the founder, bluntly; “and why?”
“Why?” cried Sir Mark. “You ask me why, when you know so well that I would do aught for the father of the woman I love.”
“Ah,” said the founder, drily; “now we have got to it at last. So that mad wish of thine is not dead yet.”
“Mad wish! Why, Master Cobbe, for what do you take me?”
“A very good hand at a bargain, Sir Mark. Nay, nay, stop you, and let me speak, for you have had a goodly say. You come to me then, now, scorning all kinds of commission for the great order you have to bestow, but you say to me all the same—Here is the order, give me thy daughter in return.”
“Master Cobbe!”
“Sir Mark Leslie! Now, sir, what manner of man do you take me to be, that you offer me goodly orders in exchange for my own poor flesh and blood?”
“No, no, Master Cobbe; you do not speak me fair.”
“I think I do, sir,” replied the founder. “Go, take thy great order elsewhere, I’ll have none of it. My child weds some day a man of her own station, who is a suitable mate. I shall not take a bribe to give her to the first who tries to tempt me.”
“Come, come, Master Cobbe, you are too hard. You know I love her.”