"You know that you are in my power," said Poltavo, viciously. "Are you aware that I could raise my finger and tumble your precious plot into the dust?"
"There are many things I know," said Farrington, "and if you knew them too you would keep a civil tongue in your head. Sit down. What is the trouble?"
"Why did you leave that instruction in your will? That Doris was to marry this infernal Doughton?"
"For a very good reason."
"Explain the reason!" stormed the angry man.
"I shall do nothing so absurd," smiled Farrington, crookedly; "it is enough when I say I want this girl's happiness. Don't you realize," he went on rapidly, "that the only thing I have in my life, that is at all clean, or precious, or worth while, is my affection for my niece? I want to see her happy; I know that her happiness lies with Doughton."
"You are mad," snarled the other; "the girl is half in love with me."
"With you," Farrington's eyes narrowed; "that is absolutely impossible."
"Why impossible?" demanded Poltavo loudly; "why impossible?" He thumped the table angrily.