"Can I not? I can choose where I list."
"Anyhow, you cannot take where I do not allow. I will never allow of a wife to you who is not of good birth and rich."
"Of good birth she is—she whom I have chosen; rich she is not, but what matters that when I have enough."
"Are you mad?" screamed the old man, springing from his chair and running up and down the room, in wild excitement. "Are you mad? Do you dare tell me you have chosen without consulting me—without regard for my wishes?"
"I shall take Urith, or none at all."
"Then none at all," snapped old Cleverdon. "Never, never will I consent to your bringing that hussy through my doors, under my roof."
"What harm has she done you? You have not heard a word against her. She is not rich, but not absolutely poor—she has, or will have, Willsworthy."
"Willsworthy! What is that compared with Julian's inheritance?"
"It is nothing. But I don't want Julian, and I will not take her for the sake of her property. Come, father, sit down, and let us talk this matter coolly and sensible."
He threw himself into a chair, and laid his hands on the arms, and stretched his legs before him.