"No," Sophia said, in a low but determined tone, "I cannot do that!"
Mr. Northey fancied that he had not heard aright. "Eh," he said, "you----"
"I cannot do that, sir; my mind is quite made up," she repeated.
From her chair Mrs. Northey laughed scornfully at her husband's consternation. "Are you blind?" she said. "Cannot you see that the Irishman has turned the girl's head?"
"Impossible!" Mr. Northey said.
"Don't you hear her say that her mind is made up?" Mrs. Northey continued contemptuously. "You may talk till you are hoarse, Northey, you'll get nothing; I know that. She's a pig when she likes."
Mr. Northey glowered at the girl as if she had already broken all bounds. "But does she understand," he said, breathing hard, "that marriage with a person of--of that class, is impossible? And surely no modest girl would continue to encourage a person whom she cannot marry?"
Still Sophia remained silent, her eyes steadily fixed on the picture above his head.
"Speak, Sophia!" he cried imperatively. "This is impertinence."
"If I cannot marry him," she said in a low voice, "I shall marry no one!"