Mr. Longcluse's pale face grew whiter, and his brows knit, as he fixed a momentary stare on the young man; but he mastered his anger, and said in a cold tone—
“We disagree totally upon that point, and I rather think the time will come when you must explain.”
“I have no more to say upon the subject, Sir, except this,” said Arden, very tartly, “that it is certain your hopes can never lead to anything, and that I object to your continuing your visits at Mortlake.”
“Why, the house does not belong to you—it belongs to Sir Reginald Arden, who objects to your visits and receives mine. Your ideas seem a little confused,” and he laughed gently and coldly.
“Very much the reverse, Sir. I object to my sister being exposed to the least chance of annoyance from your visits. I protest against it, and you will be so good as to understand that I distinctly forbid them.”
“The young lady's father, I presume, will hardly ask your advice in the matter, and I certainly shall not ask your leave. I shall call when I please, so long as I am received at Mortlake, and shall direct my own conduct, without troubling you for counsel in my affairs.” Mr. Longcluse laughed again icily.
“And so shall I, mine,” said Arden sharply.
“You have no right to treat anyone so,” said Longcluse angrily—“as if one had broken his honour, or committed a crime.”
“A crime!” repeated Richard Arden. “Oh! That, indeed, would pretty well end all relations.”
“Yes, as, perhaps, you shall find,” answered Longcluse, with sudden and oracular ferocity.