"We thought it was late for bears to be out," he admitted.
Murray chuckled with amusement.
"Quite so, quite so! And so you visit us once more, Master Ormerod. I confess 'tis an unexpected pleasure which we shall strive to make the most of."
"Sir," I said earnestly, "it makes little difference to me what is my fate, but I conjure you by whatever pretensions to gentility you possess to give over your plan of selling your daughter."
He took snuff with his odd deliberation, and his face became as impassive as an Indian's.
"The words you choose for your appeal do not commend it to me," he returned. "Nor do I perceive what business of yours it may be to question my daughter's marriage."
Now, what put it in my head I know not, unless it was the fact that in her letter to me Marjory had spoken of him as "Mr. Murray"; but I leaped to the instant conclusion that she was not his daughter. Sure, no man could have disposed of his own daughter so cold-bloodedly!
"She is not your daughter in the first place," I retorted boldly. "And in the second place, she has expressed to me her abhorrence of the marriage, as you know."
His face revealed no expression but for a faint tremor of the eyelids.
"Zooks," he remarked mildly after an interval of silence, "'tis strong language that you use. You are a headstrong young man, Master Ormerod. Can it be that you have some personal interest in the matter?"