Маргарет Олифант - Old Mr. Tredgold

“You are in great danger of losing her, papa. There is a man on the road–”

“What’s that—what’s that, Katie? A man that is after my Stella? A man to rob me of my little girl? Well, I like ’em to come after her, I like to see her with a lot at her feet. And who’s this one? The man with a handle to his name?”

“Yes; I suppose you would call it a handle. It was one of the men that were out in the boat with her—Sir Charles–”

“Oh!” said Mr. Tredgold, with his countenance falling. “And why didn’t the t’other one—his lordship—come forward? I don’t care for none of your Sir Charleses—reminds me of a puppy, that name.”

“The puppies are King Charles’s, papa. I don’t know why the Earl did not come forward; because he didn’t want to, I suppose. And, indeed, he was not Stella’s sort at all.”

“Stella’s sort! Stella’s sort!” cried the old man. “What right has Stella to have a sort when she might have got a crown to put on her pretty head. Coronet? Yes, I know; it’s all the same. And where is this fellow? Do you mean that you brought him in my carriage, hiding him somewhere between your petticoats? I will soon settle your Sir Charles, unless he can settle shilling to shilling down.”

“Sir Charles is walking,” said Katherine; “and, papa, please to remember that Stella is fond of him, she is really fond of him; she is—in love with him. At least I think so, otherwise– You would not do anything to make Stella unhappy, papa?”

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