When this time had expired, she took Mrs. Carnegie's hand, and they both approached the open windows of the squire's parlor. When the squire saw them he rose and confronted them. Angry red spots were on his cheeks; his hands trembled. Frances was seated at the table; she looked very pale, and as the two ladies approached she was wiping some tears silently from her eyes.
"Yes, look at her," said the squire, who was almost choking with anger. "She refuses him—she absolutely refuses him! She is satisfied that her poor old father shall end his days in the work-house, rather than unite herself to an amiable and worthy man, who can amply provide for her. Oh, it is preposterous! I have no patience with her; she won't even listen to me. Not a word I say has the smallest effect."
"Because, father—"
"No, Frances, I won't listen to any of your 'becauses.' But never, never again even profess to care for your father. Don't waste words, my child; for words are empty when they are not followed by deeds."
"I must take an answer to Mr. Spens to-day," said Fluff. "Perhaps, if Frances thought a little, she would change her mind."
These words seemed to sting Frances, who rose quickly to her feet.
"You know why I can not help my father in this particular," she said. "Oh, I think, between you all, you will drive me mad."
"Perhaps," said Fluff, suddenly—"perhaps if you saw the gentleman, Frances, you might be able to give a different answer. He really is very nice, and—and—the fact is, he's very impatient. He has arrived—he is in the dining room."
"The gentleman who has purchased the mortgage is in the dining-room!" said the squire.
He rubbed his hands gleefully.