"Of course I have no objection," said Mark Inglefield. "I will do whatever I can to help you; only come to the point."
"I'll do so, sir. Your visit here, on the face of it, seems fair and above-board. What I want to know first is, how it happens that my daughter had a portrait of yours in her possession?"
"My dear sir," replied Mark Inglefield, blandly, "you are putting a conundrum to me."
"You don't know how she got hold of it, sir?"
"I haven't the remotest notion."
"How comes it that, when I taxed her with it, she confessed that it was the portrait of the scoundrel who had brought her shame upon her?"
At this question all eyes were directed towards Mark Inglefield. Nothing daunted, he said:
"That is a question it is impossible for me to answer. She must, of course, have had some motive in giving utterance to so direct a falsehood. My only regret is that she is not here to tell you herself that we are complete strangers to each other. Has your daughter always told you the truth? Has she never deceived you?" Mr. Parkinson winced; these questions struck home. "Why, then," continued Mark Inglefield, perceiving his advantage, "should she not have deceived you in this instance? Perhaps she wishes to screen the man against whom you are justly angered; perhaps she still has a sneaking fondness for him, and protects him by throwing the blame upon a stranger."
"I don't dispute," said Mr. Parkinson, "that you may be right. But are you public property?"
"I fail to understand you."