He walked up and down for a few minutes, and at last stopped and looked at me again.
“That’s all very well,” said he at last, “but how do I know that you’re the party? Have you any proof of this?”
“No.”
“You have nothing but your own statement?”
“No.”
“And you may be an impostor. Mind you—I’m a magistrate—and you’d better be careful.”
“You can do what you choose,” said I, coldly.
“No, I can’t. In this country a man can’t do what he chooses.”
I was silent.
“Johnnie,” said my father, “I’ll have to leave her to you. You arrange it.”