"Torture me not, Sir John!" cried Beatrice vehemently. "Who is he?"
"'Tis Sir Edgar Wintour, Beatrice."
"Oh!"
"Darest thou oppose my will, Beatrice?"
Beatrice was flushed, and looked as though she hardly knew which way to turn. Edgar was staring at Sir John as if he thought his ears had played him a trick.
For some moments there was silence, and then Sir John repeated his question, for Beatrice had turned away and was toying with her brooch.
"Dost oppose my will, Beatrice?"
"It would grieve me to disobey thee, Sir John," she said at length, in a tone of dutiful submission.
"He will make thee a good husband," replied Sir John, smiling in a way that made Beatrice inwardly furious. "What dost think of my choice, girl?"
Beatrice subdued her resentment as best she could, and replied demurely: