“Well?” said Chisholm, with an abruptness which hinted at anxiety.
“You will remember what I asked you some time ago. I had better say that I abandon the idea.”
Chisholm started, and his florid face grew redder while Vane, in place of embarrassment, was conscious of a somewhat grim amusement. It seemed strange that a man of Chisholm’s stamp should have any pride, but he evidently possessed it.
“What am I to understand by that?” he asked with some asperity.
“I think what I said explained it. Bearing in mind your and Mrs. Chisholm’s influence, I’ve an idea that Evelyn might have yielded, if I’d strongly urged my suit; but that was not by any means what I wanted. I’d naturally prefer a wife who married me because she wished to do so. That’s why, after thinking the thing over, I’ve decided to—withdraw.”
Chisholm straightened himself in his chair, in fiery indignation, which he made no attempt to conceal.
“You mean that after asking my consent and seeing more of Evelyn, you have changed your mind. Can’t you understand that it’s an unpardonable confession; one which I never fancied a man born and brought up in your station could have brought himself to make.”
Vane looked at him with an impassive face. “It strikes me as largely a question of terms—I mayn’t have used the right one. Now you know how the matter stands, you can describe it in any way that sounds nicest. In regard to your other remark, I’ve been in a good many stations, and I must admit that until lately none of them were likely to promote much delicacy of sentiment.”
“So it seems,” Chisholm was almost too hot to sneer. “But can’t you realise how your action reflects upon my daughter?”
Vane held himself in hand. He had only one object: to divert Chisholm’s wrath from Evelyn to himself and he thought he was succeeding in this. For the rest, he cherished a strong resentment against the man.