"What shall we say to him--eh, Nan?
You'll like to go on the spree with your old dad to take care of you." "Spree!" exclaimed Nan.

And again in a lower key, with a still finer disdain: "Spree! Well"-- tearing the letter across impulsively, with the action of a passionate child--"you can go on the spree if you like, dad, but I'm going to stay at home.

I'm not going to run after him to the ends of the earth if he is my husband.

It wasn't in the bargain, and I won't do it!" She stamped like a little fury, scattering fragments of the torn letter in all directions.
Her father attempted a feeble remonstrance, but she overrode him instantly.
"I won't listen to you, dad!" she declared fiercely.

"I tell you I won't do it! The man isn't living who shall order me to do this or that as if I were his slave.