"What if it is, sir?" asked Flora, haughtily, for his categorical manner offended her deeply.
"What if it is!" he repeated with louring brow.
"Yes, sir."
"Then the cool admission ill becomes Flora Warrender of Ardgour, whose forefathers bear so high a place in the annals of their country!"
"Oh, but they were mere provincials, and their bravery or patriotism are unworthy the regard of such a citizen of the world as the Master of Rohallion," said Flora.
He sullenly threw her hand from him; but she did not retire, being loth that his family, especially the old Lord, whom she dearly loved and respected, should know of this scene; and loth, too, that it should end in this unseemly fashion.
"Cursed be my mother's doting folly!" thought he, while his pale eyes alternately shrunk and dilated; "so—so, nothing but an heiress will suit our foundling, our 'Tom Jones,' for a charmer—it's vastly amusing. Confound it, a little more of this presumption will make me wring the brat's head off!"
While his cool insolence piqued Flora, her decided rejection roused all his wrath and pride; he thought of his pecuniary interest, too, so both sat silent for a time.
"Well, begad! this passes my comprehension!" he exclaimed at length, as he buttoned his accurately fitting straw-coloured kid gloves.
"To what do you refer, friend Cosmo?" asked Flora, looking at him almost spitefully.