“I suppose there is nothing wrong in your story?”
“No. When I tell all about myself and my past life, I think it will satisfy not only you—but Mrs. Dengelton.”
“It is on her account that I made that rather rude remark, for, unless you can prove your name, your position, and your income to be satisfactory, she will never consent to your marriage with Eunice.”
“As to my name,” said Crispin, coloring a little at such plain speaking, “I hope to prove that spotless, my position will be beyond reproach, and my income is larger than your own.”
“You are wealthy, then?”
“I am certainly well off, and I will give you my story at some later date, but at present I will answer no more of your questions.”
“And Mrs. Dengelton?”
“I am going to speak to her to-morrow morning, so as to put things right before I leave England. Oh, I am not afraid of being absent. Eunice loves me, and will be true, while as to her mother, I can win that lady on to my side, and will do so to-morrow.”
“You are an enigma, Crispin.”
“I am; but, as I said before, I can explain myself to your satisfaction, and intend doing so when I consider it wise. But you must trust me.”