"A child! why, you will soon be of age."
There was a deep silence for a time, then the father spoke: "Mr. Soher (emphasizing the Mr.) is a nice young man. He means to ask your hand when he is better acquainted with you."
"He drinks."
"Not now, I know he used to do so, but he is quite steady now—I knew you would object, I saw it in your manner, the way in which you answered him; somehow or other, you don't seem to take to respectable people. But mind you; if ever you marry anyone else, not a penny of mine shall you have; not one double."
"He is my cousin-germain."
"Well, what does it matter? the law does not prevent you from marrying your cousin-germain." His tone became bitter. He went on: "I made a great mistake when I promised your mother on her death-bed that I would send you to a boarding-school. What other objection have you to state?"
His daughter looked down, coloured and replied almost inaudibly: "I do not love him."
"Bah! if it's only that, you will get to love him soon enough; I know you will."
Then thinking by her demeanour that he had nearly won her over, he asked: "Shall I ask him to dinner next Sunday?"
"You would only increase the contempt that I feel for him."