“What is the use of my reading the letter?” she said, without shifting her attitude, and ignoring the letter which her father had wheeled round in his chair in order to offer her. “I can guess what’s in it. Oh, dear! Why does he worry?”
“I desire you to read it, Minna,” said her father. She moved, took it from him, read it nonchalantly, with a contemptuous smile, and threw it, with a woman’s charming awkwardness in throwing, upon the table.
“I might be shares in a new company he was asking you for. Do I look like a scrip or a bond? I won’t have him, of course, but when you write to him, tell him that that’s not the way to win a woman with blood in her veins.”
“You’re a foolish girl, Minna. If you have any kind of regard for my wishes you will give this matter further consideration. Where will you, Minna Hart, find a better match?”
“Oh, in a penny box!” she cried, flippantly.
“At least it would have some latent fire at the end of it!”
“You will regret it,” said her father.
“It will be something to do, then. Tell him I’ll try. It may soothe his vanity.”
“Come here, my daughter,” said the old man.
She moved obediently to his side and put her hand in his that was held open.