longer felt either amused or pleased by the extravagant compliments
lavished upon her beauty and skill by portly Squire John, by Sir Timothy
Harrison or the more diffident young Squire Pyncheon.

"Of a truth, I sometimes wish, Lady Sue, that I could find out if you
have any faults," remarked Squire Boatfield unctuously.

"Nay, Squire," she retorted sharply, "pray try to praise me to my female
friends."

In vain did Mistress Pyncheon admonish her son to be more bold in his
wooing.

"You behave like a fool, Oliver," she said meekly.

"But, Mother ..."

"Go, make yourself pleasing to her ladyship."

"But, Mother ..."

"I pray you, my son," she retorted with unusual acerbity, "do you want a
million or do you not?"

"But, Mother ..."

"Then go at once and get it, ere that fool Sir Timothy or the odious
Boatfield capture it under your very nose."

"But, Mother ..."