“You know, Violet, that you owe me the obedience of a daughter. I have cared for you all your life, and but for me you would have had a hard life enough among those beggarly Meads, your father’s relations.”
“Grandpapa, I am very grateful for your kindness, indeed I am; but I must insist that you will not speak so contemptuously of my father’s people,” interposed Violet, with a sweet and gentle dignity.
“And why not, sauce-box? Your father was a scamp, no doubt of that. Besides, didn’t I tell you to listen quietly, and not answer me back?”
Violet sighed and relapsed into silence, though her cheeks burned with anger at the insulting mention of her dead father. She knew that his blind prejudice against the young soldier, who had run off with his youngest daughter, made him exaggerate all his faults.
“Well, as I was saying to you that night, my girl, your mother disappointed all my hopes; but I swear that you shall not. I’ve picked out a rich husband for you, and I want you to accept my choice like a good girl,” cajolingly. “Why, almost any girl would jump at the chance of such a husband—young, rich, and loving!”
“But, grandpapa, I have never even seen him. How can he love me?”
“He has seen you, although he didn’t tell me where, and he thinks you are the rarest beauty in the world—just worships the ground you walk on! He will settle a fortune on you the day that you marry him. Violet, think of that, my dear!”
She shuddered with disgust, and cried out, tremblingly:
“I cannot sell myself for gold.”
And suddenly she fell at his feet and lifted her imploring blue eyes to his face.