"In order that you may not be annoyed by my son's folly in the future you will leave my daughter's employ, you'll leave Newport--you'll be well advised, indeed, in going back to your own country, which I understand to be the British provinces. You will lose nothing, however, by this conduct, as I've given you to understand. Three--four--five thousand dollars--I think five ought to be sufficient--generous, in fact--" "But I've not refused him," I was able at last to interpose. "I--I mean to accept him." There was an instant of stillness during which one could hear the pounding of the sea. "Does that mean that you want me to raise your price?" "No, Mr. Brokenshire. I have no price. If it means anything at all that has to do with you, it's to tell you that I'm mistress of my acts and that I consider your son--he's twenty-six--to be master of his." There was a continuation of the stillness. His voice when he spoke was the gentlest sound I had ever heard in the way of human utterance. If it were not for the situation it could have been considered kind: "Anything at all that has to do with me? You seem to attach no importance to the fact that Hugh is my son." I do not know how words came to me. They seemed to flow from my lips independently of thought. "I attach importance only to the fact that he's a man. Men who are never anything but their father's sons aren't men." "And yet a father has some rights." "Yes, sir; some. He has the right to follow where his grown-up children lead. He hasn't the right to lead and require his grown-up children to follow." He shifted his ground. "I'm obliged to you for your opinion, but at present it's not to the point--" I broke in breathlessly: "Pardon me, sir; it's exactly to the point. I'm a woman; Hugh's a man. We're--we're in love with each other; it's all we have to be concerned with." "Not quite; you've got to be concerned--with me." "Which is what I deny." "Oh, denial won't do you any good. I didn't come to hear your denials, or your affirmations, either. I've come to tell you what to do." "But if I know that already?" "That's quite possible--if you mean to play your game as doubtless you've played it before. I only want to warn you--" I looked toward Mrs. Brokenshire for help, but her eyes were fixed on the floor, on which she was drawing what seemed like a design with the tip of her parasol. The greyhounds were stretched at her feet. I could do nothing but speak for myself, which I did with a calmness that surprised me. "Mr. Brokenshire," I interrupted, "you are a man and I'm a woman. What's more, you're a strong man, while I'm a woman with no protection at all. I ask you--do you think you're playing a man's part in insulting me?"