"Well, sir," said Mr. Pope breaking the silence, "you have come to offer some explanation——"
While awaiting this encounter Mr. Pope had not been insensitive to the tactical and scenic possibilities of the occasion. In fact, he had spent the latter half of the morning in intermittent preparations, arranging desks, books, hassocks in advantageous positions, and not even neglecting such small details as the stamp tray, the articles of interest from Jerusalem, and the rock-crystal cenotaph, which he had exhibited in such a manner as was most calculated to damp, chill and subjugate an antagonist in the exposed area towards the window. He had also arranged the chairs in a highly favourable pattern.
Mr. Trafford was greatly taken aback by Mr. Pope's juridical manner and by this form of address, and he was further put out by Mr. Pope saying with a regal gesture to the best illuminated and most isolated chair: "Be seated, sir."
Mr. Trafford's exordium vanished from his mind, he was at a loss for words until spurred to speech by Mr. Pope's almost truculent: "Well?"
"I am in love sir, with your daughter."
"I am not aware of it," said Mr. Pope, and lifted and dropped the paper-weight. "My daughter, sir, is engaged to marry Mr. Magnet. If you had approached me in a proper fashion before presuming to attempt—to attempt——" His voice thickened with indignation,—"Liberties with her, you would have been duly informed of her position—and everyone would have been saved"—he lifted the paper-weight. "Everything that has happened." (Bump.)
Mr. Trafford had to adjust himself to the unexpected elements in this encounter. "Oh!" he said.
"Yes," said Mr. Pope, and there was a distinct interval.
"Is your daughter in love with Mr. Magnet?" asked Mr. Trafford in an almost colloquial tone.
Mr. Pope smiled gravely. "I presume so, sir."