“I cannot help it, papa. You know how obedient I have always been to you; but in this case I really cannot give way.”
“Yes, yes, yes, Rhoda! you obey me in a thousand unimportant things, but now there is something upon which a great deal of our future turns you refuse.”
“I cannot—I never could love Mr Tregenna, papa.”
“He is a thorough gentleman, is he not?”
“Yes—oh, yes!”
“And handsome, and well-informed, and clever. A thoroughly polished—there, quite a ladies’ man.”
“Ladies’ man!” exclaimed Rhoda, in tones of disgust. “Handsome and well-informed, of course, papa.”
“Well then, my dear,” said Mr Penwynn, ignoring Rhoda’s peculiar look. “What more do you want?”
“Papa! do you think I want to marry a ladies’ man?” said Rhoda, scornfully.
Mr Penwynn looked at the bright flushed face, and felt as proud as he did vexed. He was seated at a writing-table, and the blotting-paper before him bore testimony to his annoyance, for it was covered with the initials of unpleasant words, which he kept dotting down to relieve his feelings—a habit in which he indulged sometimes at the office, as Mr Chynoweth was well aware. He nearly spoiled a new quill pen in dashing down another letter, and then went on,—