“No; you’ve been a splendid mater,” he said laughingly.
“And I have been proud of my manly son; but when I see him stooping to folly—”
“Misapplied quotation, mater—when lovely woman stoops to folly.”
“Be serious, sir. I will not have you degrade yourself in the eyes of the neighbourhood by such conduct, for it means disgrace. What would the Days say—Sir John and Glynne? If it had been she, I would not have cared.”
“Let the Days be,” he said gruffly.
“I will,” said Mrs Rolph; “but listen, Rob, dear; think of poor Madge.”
“Hang poor Madge! Look here, once for all, mother; I’m not a witch in Macbeth. I don’t want three ounces of a red-haired wench—nor seven stone neither.”
“Rob! Shame!”
“I’m not going to have Madge rammed down my throat. If I’m to marry, she’s not in the running.”
“What? when you know my wishes?”