"I vow," says she, tapping the floor with the toe of her satin shoe, "I could find it in my heart to be very angry with you--all of you, if I didn't--love you quite so well. So, needs must I forgive you. Sir John dear, stoop down and let me straighten your wig--there! Now you may kiss me, sir--an' you wish." Hereupon Jack kissed her, of course, and thereafter catching sight of us, frowned terrifically. "Now, look'ee here, Pen--Penelope," says he, "I say, look'ee here!" "Yes, Sir John dear." "I--that is to say--we," began Jack, "for Dick and Bentley are one with me, I say that--that--er, I say that--what the devil do I mean to say, Dick?" "Why, Pen," I explained, "'tis this stranger--this--er--" "Tawnish!" says Bentley. "Aye, Tawnish!" nodded Jack. "Now heark'ee, Pen, I repeat--I say, I repeat--" "Very frequently, dear," she sighed. "Well?" "I say," continued Jack, "that I--we--utterly forbid you to see or hear from the fellow again." "And pray, sir, what have you against him?" says she softly,--only her slender foot tapped a little faster. "Everything!" says Jack. "Which is as much as to say--nothing!" she retorted. "I say," cried Jack, "the man you come to marry shall be a _man_ and not a mincing exquisite with no ideas beyond the cut of his coat." "And," says I, "a man of position, and no led-captain with an eye to your money, or needy adventurer hunting a dowry, Pen." "Oh!" she sighed, "how cruelly you misjudge him! And you, Uncle Bentley, what have you to say?" "That whoso he be, we would have him in all things worthy of thee, Pen." "Aye!" nodded Jack, "so my lass, forego this whim--no more o' this Tawnish fellow--forget him." "Forget!" says she, "how lightly you say it! Oh, prithee don't you see that I am a child no longer--don't you understand?" "Pooh!" cries Jack. "Fiddle-de-dee! What-a-plague! This fellow is no fit mate for our Pen, a stranger whom nobody knows! a languid fop! a pranked-out, patched and powdered puppy-dog! So Penelope, let there be an end on't!" Pen's little foot had ceased its tattoo, but her eyes were bright and her cheeks glowed when she spoke again. "Oh!" says she, scornfully. "Oh, most noble, most fair-minded gentlemen--all three of you, to condemn thus, out of hand, one of whom you know nothing, and without allowing him one word in his own behalf! Aye, hang your heads! Oh, 'tis most unworthy of you--you whom I have ever held to be in all things most just and honourable!" And here she turned her back fairly upon us and crossed to the window, while we looked at one another but with never a word betwixt us; wherefore she presently went on again.