Peter obeyed, sat down in a big oak chair by the dying fire, and waited in his silent fashion.
“Listen,” said Castell. “Fifteen months ago you told me something, did you not?”
Peter nodded.
“What was it, then?”
“That I loved my cousin Margaret, and asked your leave to tell her so.”
“And what did I answer?”
“That you forbade me because you had not proved me enough, and she had not proved herself enough; because, moreover, she would be very wealthy, and with her beauty might look high in marriage, although but a merchant’s daughter.”
“Well, and then?”
“And then—nothing,” and Peter sipped his wine deliberately and put it down upon the table.
“You are a very silent man, even where your courting is concerned,” said Castell, searching him with his sharp eyes.