But she could not escape the conversation, try as she would. The
words reached her in all their painfulness, one sentence in
masculine tones, those of her father, being repeated many times.

'I tell 'ee there shall be no such betrothal! I tell 'ee there
sha'n't! A child like her!'

She knew the subject of dispute to be herself. A cool feminine
voice, her mother's, replied:

'Have done with you, and be wise. He is willing to wait a good five
or six years before the marriage takes place, and there's not a man
in the county to compare with him.'

'It shall not be! He is over thirty. It is wickedness.'

'He is just thirty, and the best and finest man alive--a perfect
match for her.'

'He is poor!'

'But his father and elder brothers are made much of at Court--none
so constantly at the palace as they; and with her fortune, who
knows? He may be able to get a barony.'

'I believe you are in love with en yourself!'

'How can you insult me so, Thomas! And is it not monstrous for you
to talk of my wickedness when you have a like scheme in your own
head? You know you have. Some bumpkin of your own choosing--some