"You won't?"
"Certainly not. I don't believe your daughter wants to see me. She is engaged to another man." So much Mr. Carey had learned from Mrs. Neefit. "I have a great regard for your daughter, but I will not go to see her."
"Engaged to another man;—is she?"
"I am told so."
"Oh;—that's your little game, is it? And you won't see me when I call,—won't you? I won't stir out of this room unless you sends for the police, and so we'll get it all into one of the courts of law. I shall just like to see how you'll look when you're being cross-hackled by one of them learned gents. There'll be a question or two about the old breeches-maker as the Squire of Newton mayn't like to see in the papers the next morning. I shall take the liberty of ringing the bell and ordering a bit of dinner here, if you don't mind. I shan't go when the police comes without a deal of row, and then we shall have it all out in the courts."
This was monstrously absurd, but at the same time very annoying. Even though he should disregard that threat of being "cross-hackled by a learned gent," and of being afterwards made notorious in the newspapers,—which it must be confessed he did not find himself able to disregard,—still, independently of that feeling, he was very unwilling to call for brute force to remove Mr. Neefit from the arm-chair in which that worthy tradesman had seated himself. He had treated the man otherwise than as a tradesman. He had borrowed the man's money, and eaten the man's dinners; visited the man at Ramsgate, and twice offered his hand to the man's daughter. "You are very welcome to dine here," he said, "only I am sorry that I cannot dine here with you."
"I won't stir from the place for a week."
"That will be inconvenient," said Ralph,
"Uncommon inconvenient I should say, to a gent like you,—especially as I shall tell everybody that I'm on a visit to my son-in-law."
"I meant to yourself,—and to the business."