She had done nothing but cry when her mother
had reasoned with her.
'Very well, miss. All I can say is, that if you meet him again
I'll--I'll--I'll--' the good farmer did not know what he would do. He
was not prepared to say.
'He is gone to London, father,'
'Will you promise not to meet him any more, you good-for-nothing girl,
you? You most disobedient daughter!'
Again Netta was silent.
'Will you promise your father, Netta,' said Mrs Prothero, gently, 'not
to meet Howel again, or have anything to say to him, without his
consent?'
Still Netta was silent.
'He may reform, you know,' suggested Mrs Jonathan, 'and then you may be
allowed to marry,'
'No chance of that,' roared Mr Prothero, advancing towards Netta, taking
her by the arm, and looking as if a few more of her rejoinders would
bring her a good shaking. 'Do you mean to promise, miss?'
'Father, you're hurting me,' said Netta petulantly. 'You needn't pinch
me so.'
Mr Prothero relaxed his hold. He doated on this obstinate, pretty,
wilful child of his--the only girl, and whose temper was the very
facsimile of his own.
'It's you're hurting me most, Netta, by rushing into certain misery.
Will you promise?'
Again he took hold of the arm.
'One would think you were a Papist, father, and this the Inquisition,'
said Netta, growing learned under the torture of her father's grasp,
'Well said, Netta,' broke in Mr Jonathan, aroused by any allusion to any
subject out of the present.
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