“My friend? And what if he is my friend? I’d be glad if I had a few more such.” By this time the light had burnt up, and Mrs. Gillingwater saw the condition of her niece’s attire. “Good gracious! girl, what have you been doing?” she asked. “Ain’t you ashamed to walk about half stripped like that?” “People must do what they can’t help, aunt. That’s the work of the friend you are so proud of. I may as well tell you at once, for if I don’t, he will. He came making love to me again, as he has before, and finished up by kissing me, the coward, and when I threw him off he tore my dress.” “And why couldn’t you let him kiss you quietly, you silly girl?” asked her aunt with indignation. “Now I dare say that you have offended him so that he won’t come forward again, to say nothing of spoiling your new dress. It ain’t a crime for a man to kiss the girl he wants to marry, is it?” “Why? Because I would rather kiss a rat that’s all. I hate the very sight of him; and as for coming forward again, I only hope that he won’t, for my sake and for his too.” Now Mrs. Gillingwater arose in her wrath; her coarse face became red and her voice grew shrill. “You good-for-nothing baggage!” she said; “so that is your game, is it? To go turning up your nose and chucking your impudence in the face of a man like Mr. Rock, who is worth twenty of you, and does you honour by wishing to make a wife of you, you that haven’t a decent name to your back, and he rich enough to marry a lady if he liked, or half a dozen of them for the matter of that. Well, I tell you that you shall have him, or I will know the reason why—ay, and so will others too.” “I can’t be violent, like you, aunt,” answered Joan, who began to feel as though this second scene would be too much for her; “it isn’t in my nature, and I hate it. But whether I have a name or not—and it is no fault of mine if I have none, though folk don’t seem inclined to let me forget it—I say that I will not marry Samuel Rock. I am a woman full grown and of age; and I know this, that there is no law in the land which can force me to take a husband whom I don’t want. And so perhaps, as we have got to live together, you’ll stop talking about him.” “Stop talking about him? Never for one hour, till I see you signing your name in the book with him, miss. And as for living together, it won’t be long that we shall do that, unless you drop these tantrums and become sensible. Else you may just tramp it for your living, or go and slave as a housemaid if any one will take you, which I doubt they won’t without a character, for nobody here will say a good word for you, you wilful, stuck-up thing, for all your fine looks that you are so proud of, and that’ll be the ruin of you yet if you’re not careful, as they were of your mother before you.”