Young and inexperienced though the girl was, the abrupt and systematic proposal of the Master rather insulted than flattered her. "No _tie_," she added, "save a fancied one made by Lady Rohallion, ever bound us; so there are no pledges to return, no bonds, nor--I can't help laughing--hearts to break." "And this desire to--to--" he stammered. "It was your mother's idea alone." "Say not so, Miss Warrender, it is mine also. Though I know that my good mother, because she jilted some fellow in her youth--my father's younger brother, I believe--thinks she makes atonement to the gods, or whoever rule these little matters of love and marriage, by making as many miserable matches, and marrying right off as many persons as she can." "Miserable matches! So she conceived one for us. You are very encouraging and complimentary to say so just after your offer to me." "Pardon me; but consider, my dear Flora," he resumed, while rallying a little, though sorely provoked to find himself confused and baffled by a country girl, of whose rejection he felt actually ashamed to tell his own mother, "are you not labouring under some deuced misconception in giving this very decided, and, I must say, very extraordinary refusal?" "How?" "Is it not, that to the affection and rank I proffer, you prefer the absurd love of a silly upstart, who shall go hence as he came hither, no one knows or cares how--a waif cast on the shore like a piece of dead seaweed, or the drowned renegade his father--a creature whose past affords no hope of a brilliant future! Speak, girl," he exclaimed, while almost savagely he grasped her wrist; "is it this that prevails with you, in opposition to the wishes of your dead mother and the whole family of Rohallion?" "What if it is, sir?" asked Flora, haughtily, for his categorical manner offended her deeply. "What if it is!" he repeated with louring brow. "Yes, sir." "Then the cool admission ill becomes Flora Warrender of Ardgour, whose forefathers bear so high a place in the annals of their country!" "Oh, but they were mere provincials, and their bravery or patriotism are unworthy the regard of such a citizen of the world as the Master of Rohallion," said Flora. He sullenly threw her hand from him; but she did not retire, being loth that his family, especially the old Lord, whom she dearly loved and respected, should know of this scene; and loth, too, that it should end in this unseemly fashion. "Cursed be my mother's doting folly!" thought he, while his pale eyes alternately shrunk and dilated; "so--so, nothing but an heiress will suit our foundling, our 'Tom Jones,' for a charmer--it's vastly amusing. Confound it, a little more of this presumption will make me wring the brat's head off!" While his cool insolence piqued Flora, her decided rejection roused all his wrath and pride; he thought of his pecuniary interest, too, so both sat silent for a time.