"Well, Sir!" he observed, after a pause; and speaking now in the tone of a man of the world, "I acknowledge my mistake, and beg your pardon. But I never read business letters, for one of which I took yours."
He spoke very civilly, but said not a word concerning the subject of the letter; of which, quite as civilly, Cornelius reminded him.
"The statements made in that letter require some proof," he observed, "and—"
"Your word suffices," interrupted Mr. Thornton, very politely. "I am satisfied."
Cornelius bowed, but persisted.
"I have not the honour of being personally known to you, Sir; I would rather—"
"Sir, one gentleman is quick to recognize another gentleman," again interrupted Mr. Thornton; "I am quite satisfied."
He bowed a little ironically; and again Cornelius bent his head in acknowledgment, observing, with a smile beneath which lurked not ungraceful raillery,—
"I am delighted to think you are satisfied, Sir, as there remains for me but to ask a plain question;—there is nothing like plain, direct dealing between gentlemen. I am on my way to town, and somewhat pressed for time. I have called to know whether George Thornton, of Thornton House, will or will not receive his little grand-daughter."
There was no evading a question so distinctly stated. Mr. Thornton looked at me with a darkening brow. "Sir," he morosely replied, "George Thornton had once a daughter of his own, whom he liked after his own way. He took a liking, too, to a young Irish physician, who settled in these parts, and who, I can't help saying it was a very clever fellow, and had, for his years, a wonderful knowledge of chemistry. 'I'll give Margaret to that man,' thought George Thornton; and, whilst he was thinking about it, the Irish physician quietly stole his daughter one evening. George Thornton made no outcry; he simply said he would never forgive either one or the other, and he never did."