“I do,” said Stratton, with a sort of dread lest even then there should be some obstacle in the way.
“Well, then, you can’t; that’s all.”
“What!” cried Stratton fiercely. “Who says so?”
“I do. But keep cool, young man. This is business.”
“Yes; I’ll be cool,” said Stratton, mastering himself again, and adopting his visitor’s cynical manner. “So let me ask you, sir, who you may be, and what is your object in coming?”
The man did not answer for a moment, but let his eyes rest again upon the notes.
“I say, who are you, sir?”
“I? Oh, nobody of any importance,” said the man, with an insolent laugh.
Stratton sprang up, and the visitor thrust his hand behind him.
“No nonsense, Mr Malcolm. I tell you this is business. Without my consent you cannot marry Myra Barron, formerly Myra Jerrold, this morning.”