'I intend ye t' coom t' Hootsey. I'm na lad: I reckon I can choose my own wife. Mother'll hev ye at t' farm, right enough: ye need na distress yeself on that point—'
'Nay, Mr. Garstin, but indeed she will not, never... I know she will not... She always set herself against me, right from the first.'
'Ay, but that was different. T' case is all changed noo,' he objected doggedly.
'She'll support the sight of me all the less,' the girl faltered.
'Mother'll hev ye at Hootsey—receive ye willin' of her own free wish—of her own free wish, d'ye hear? I'll answer for that.'
He struck the table with his fist heavily. His tone of determination awed her: she glanced at him hurriedly, struggling with her irresolution.
'I knaw hoo t' manage mother. An' now,' he concluded, changing his tone, 'is yer uncle about t' place?'
'He's up the paddock, I think,' she answered.
'Well, I'll jest step oop and hev a word wi' him.'
'Ye're ... ye will na tell him.'