"O, THAT'S your errand, is it?" cried the old man, jumping up. "What! perhaps he condoles with me, does he? Very kind of him, the stiff-backed prig, with his dandified airs and West End swagger. He's hankering about my house, is he still? If my son had the courage of a man, he'd shoot him. He's as big a villain as his father. I won't have his name mentioned in my house. I curse the day that ever I let him into it; and I'd rather see my daughter dead at my feet than married to him."

"O, that's your errand, is it?" cried the old man, jumping up. "What! he condoles with me, does he? Very kind of him, the prig with his West-end swagger. He's still hankering about my house, is he? He's as big a villain as his father. I curse the day that ever I let him into my house; and I'd rather see my daughter dead than married to him."
