"And yet you talk about suspicion. This is not fair, Mr. Guyon; this is any thing but fair."
"'Pon my soul, I didn't mean any harm; didn't, 'pon my life," said Mr. Gluon; "always found you doosid good fellow, Thacker, and that kind of thing----"
"And yet you were going away without telling me of something which, if I understand you rightly, might be to our mutual benefit, and which you came down expressly to submit to me? Is that so?"
"Dev'lish stoopid and childish of me to take affront so easily, more particklerly from good feller," said Mr. Guyon. "Yes, I did want to say word to you upon matter of importance.--matter on which I think you'll congratulate me."
"Sit down quietly, then, and let's talk it over.--The dry sherry, Evans, and a biscuit.--Any thing which benefits you interests me, Mr. Guyon--though all between us is 'pure matter of business,' eh? O, unkind, sir; very unkind!"
"There! forget that, Thacker, and listen to what I've got to tell you. You know my daughter,--at least you've seen her," added Mr. Guyon, with a rather painful recollection of several broad hints which Thacker had given of his wish for an introduction to Katharine--hints which Mr. Guyon had always carefully ignored.
"I have seen Miss Guyon," was the cold reply.
"Yes, of course, yes. Strange girl, very reserved, and--afraid of society."
"Indeed?"
"O very been a great drawback to her; but at last she has consented to come out, and--well, I don't know that I ought to say it to any one, but you're a man not likely to break confidence--she's going to make a splendid match."