"I am not going to marry you!"
The voice was low but positive, and the quiet in the room was intense as Sir Walter bounced up within a foot of her and shook a fat forefinger in her face.
"Aren't you," he said, "aren't you! And I'll just tell you three things what'll make you change your tune, my girl.
"One," he placed the fat forefinger on the ill-bred thumb, "an' the least important, you'll marry me 'cos you're an 'etth, daughter of Colonel Bob Hetth, V.C., an' your fut'rist aunt ain't—hasn't half rubbed it in about the Hetths never breaking their word, I give you mine!"
"Please leave my father's name out of this," quietly replied Leonie, her face dead white from the sickening thudding of her heart.
"Well, if you don't keep your word, Miss tiger cat, I'll run you in for breach of promise, an' bring your father's name into court!"
"You couldn't!"
"Couldn't!—couldn't what?" stormed the man.
"Run," said Leonie gently, and added sweetly, and with great vulgarity, "you're too fat!"
"Two!" continued Sir Walter, purple in the face, but wisely ignoring the insult to his person. "You'll marry me 'cos no one else'll have you. You're batty, my gel—gone in the top storey—can't even go out to work for your living 'cause you ain't always to be trusted. I know all about yer, but I'm willin' to take the risk. There won't be any trapersin' round the 'ouse after dark once yer married to me, I give you my word. Course, if you like to go on spungin' on your aunt, obligin' her to live in a 'ole like this, well, that's your look h'out—'ardly up to mark tho', being an 'etth, daughter of a V.C."