Garrison stared at him coldly.
"You seem to have made up your mind very decidedly," he said. "Is that all you have to say?"
"You don't deny it?" cried the old man, exasperated by his calmness.
"You don't dare deny it!"
Garrison grew calmer.
"I haven't the slightest reason to deny anything," he said. "I frequently require a pseudonym. Dorothy knows that I employ the name Garrison whenever occasion demands."
The old man was wild.
"Will you swear that your right name is Fairfax?" he said. "That's what I demand to know!"
Garrison answered: "I came here to see my wife. I warn you I am growing impatient with your hidden insinuations!"
"Your wife!" cried old Robinson, making a dive into one of his pockets with his hand. "What have you to say to this letter, from the woman who is doubtless by now your legal wife?" Suddenly snatching a letter from his coat, he projected himself toward Garrison and held up the missive before him.
It was the letter from Ailsa—the one that Garrison had missed—the letter in which she had agreed to become his wife. He put forth his hand to receive it.