“Cannot—will not obey us who have brought you up. I suppose next you will refuse to obey your father?”
“In this matter, yes, if he were to order me to take Jan Pooke.”
“I’ll force you to take him.”
“You cannot do that, uncle.” She spoke with composure, whereas he was in a towering passion.
“Look at this,” said he, snatching up the letter from the table. “I’m dishonoured now, indeed, as Zerah says. If you take Jan, all is well. The old father will find me money, and all runs on wheels. You put in your spoke, and everything is upset. Dishonoured, ruined, beggared—and all through you.”
He beat down his hat over his brows, laughed wildly, and shook his fist at Kate. “I was chucked out of the trap t’other day. I wish I had broken my neck sooner than come to this. I’ve nourished a viper in my bosom, and now it turns and stings me.”
“Leave her to me,” said Zerah. “You make matters worse by your violence. That is the way with you men. Leave her to me.”
Pasco flung himself back in the settle, and thrust out his legs as before, and rammed his fists into his pockets. Before he had held his chin up, now it was buried in his shirt front.
Then Zerah pulled her niece into the window. Kate drew a long breath. She knew that now came the worst trial of all.
“Kitty,” said the aunt, holding both the girl’s arms, and looking into her face. “Are you utterly heartless? Is it a matter of no concern to you that we should be ruined? You have but to run after Mr. Pooke, and all will be well. Why should you not give way to my wishes and those of your uncle? What have you against the lad? He is good, and he is rich.”