"It is too soon to ask that question," she rejoined, blushing deeply.
"And now, sir, you must go, indeed, you must. You distress my mother."

"If I do not distress _you_, I will stay," resumed Wyvil, with an
imploring look.

"You _do_ distress me," she answered, averting her gaze.

"Nay, then, I must tear myself away," he rejoined. "I shall return
shortly, and trust to find your father less flinty-hearted than he is
represented."

He would have clasped Amabel in his arms, and perhaps snatched a kiss,
if her mother had not rushed between them.

"No more familiarities, sir," she cried angrily; "no court manners here.
If you look to wed my daughter, you must conduct yourself more
decorously; but I can tell you, you have no chance--none whatever."

"Time will show," replied Wyvil, audaciously. "You had better give her
to me quietly, and save me the trouble of carrying her off,--for have
her I will."

"Mercy on us!" cried Mrs. Bloundel, in accents of alarm; "now his wicked
intentions are out."

"Fear nothing, mother," observed Amabel, coldly. "He will scarcely carry
me off without my own consent; and I am not likely to sacrifice myself
for one who holds me in such light esteem."