When he had lighted the pipe, and smoked about half-a-dozen whiffs with a great assumption of coolness, he addressed himself to his daughter in an altered and conciliating tone.

“Well, Nelly,” he said, “you’ve had a rare day at Wyncomb, and a regular ramble over the old house with Steph’s cousin.  What do you think of it?”

“I think it’s a queer gloomy old place enough, father.  I wonder there’s any one can live in it.  The dark bare-looking rooms gave me the horrors.  I used to think this house was dull, and seemed as if it was haunted; but it’s lively and gay as can be, compared to Wyncomb.”

“Humph!” muttered the bailiff.  “You’re a fanciful young lady, Miss Nell, and don’t know a fine substantial old house when you see one.  Life’s come a little too easy to you, perhaps.  It might have been better for you if you’d seen more of the rough side.  Being your own missus too soon, and missus of such a place as this, has spoiled you a bit.  I tell you, Nell, there ain’t a better house in Hampshire than Wyncomb, though it mayn’t suit your fanciful notions.  Do you know the size of Stephen Whitelaw’s farm?”

“No, father; I’ve never thought about it.”

“What do you say to three hundred acres—­over three hundred, nigher to four perhaps?”

“I suppose it’s a large farm, father.  But I know nothing about such things.”

“You suppose it’s large, and you know nothing about such things!” cried the bailiff, with an air of supreme irritation.  “I don’t believe any man was ever plagued with such an aggravating daughter as mine.  What do you say to being mistress of such a place, girl?—­mistress of close upon four hundred acres of land; not another man’s servant, bound to account for every blade of grass and every ear of corn, as I am, but free and independent mistress of the place, with the chance of being left a widow by and by, and having it all under your own thumb; what do you say to that?”

“Only the same that I have always said, father.  Nothing would ever persuade me to marry Stephen Whitelaw.  I’d rather starve.”

“And you shall starve, if you stick to that,” roared William Carley with a blasphemous oath.  “But you won’t be such a fool, Nell.  You’ll hear reason; you won’t stand out against your poor old father and against your own interests.  The long and the short of it is, I’ve given Whitelaw my promise that you shall be his wife between this and Easter.”

“What!” exclaimed Ellen, with a faint cry of horror; “you don’t mean that you’ve promised that, father!  You can’t mean it!”

“I can and do mean it, lass.”

“Then you’ve made a promise that will never be kept.  You might have known as much when you made it.  I’m sure I’ve been plain-spoken enough about Stephen Whitelaw.”

“That was a girl’s silly talk.  I didn’t think to find you a fool when I came to the point.  I let you have your say, and looked to time to bring you to reason.  Come, Nell, you’re not going against your father, are you?”