“I love Miss Gartram very dearly, sir,” said the visitor frankly; “so well that I dare not even think of the consequence of a refusal.”
“Broken heart, suicide and that sort of thing, eh?”
“I hope I should never make a fool of myself, Mr Gartram,” said Glyddyr coldly.
“So do I. Now look here, sir. I gave up society to become a business man—slave driver some people politely call me; but as a tradesman I have been so tricked and swindled by everybody, even my banker, that I have grown suspicious.”
“I don’t wonder, sir. Without going into trade, a man has to keep his eyes open to the rascality of the world.”
“Yes,” said Gartram, scanning the speaker keenly still. “Then now, sir, let me ask you a question.”
“By all means; as many as you like.”
“Then pray, sir, if my daughter had been a penniless girl, would you have felt this deep admiration for her?”
“Mr Gartram!” said Glyddyr haughtily, as he flushed deeply and rose from his chair. “Bah!” he added, after a pause, and he let himself sink back, and smoked heavily for a few moments. “Stupid to be so put out. Quite a natural question. Really, sir,” he said, smiling, and looking ingenuously in the old man’s face, “fate has been so kind to me over money matters that fortune-hunting has not been one of my pursuits. In round numbers, my father left me three hundred thousand pounds. Golden armour, sir, against the arrows of poverty, and such as turns aside so fierce a stab as that of yours. Has Miss Gartram any money?”
“Humph! I have,” said the old man roughly.