“What more need I say, sir?—she is my choice!” returned Mark plumply. and with a firm decision of manner.
The expression upon his father’s face was not lost upon him. He saw the opposition brewing, and he gathered his strength to meet the storm.
A kind of spasmodic yell burst from his father’s lips.
“Preposterous!” he cried, vehemently; “frantically, deliriously preposterous!”
“You are opposed, sir, to my making Lotte Clinton my wife?” exclaimed Mark, with a falling brow.
“Opposed!” echoed Wilton, with a sardonic grin; “opposed! Don’t talk of opposition, boy; the thing cannot be entertained for one moment.”
“Upon what grounds?” asked Mark, firmly.
Mr. Wilton waved his hand contemptuously, as though the subject altogether was beyond discussion. Mark was not so to be put off.
“You found her honest, sir!” exclaimed Mark, as he perceived his father declined to give his reasons for so strongly objecting to her.
“A beggar!” gasped the old man.