Roseleaf gave vent to an expression of nausea.
"Are you yourself deceived?" he exclaimed. "He will not attend my wedding; certainly not! He is attending his own. If, indeed, he does not compass his ends without that preliminary."
Weak and old as Mr. Fern was he would have struck the speaker had not the third person in the room interfered.
"Do you dare to speak in that manner of my daughter!" he cried. "Must you attack the character not only of my best friend but of my child as well? I thank God at this moment, whatever be her fate, that she did not join her life to yours!"
With a majestic step he strode from the presence of his late prospective son-in-law. Gouger, with a feeling that some one should accompany him, followed. But first he turned to speak in a low key to the novelist.
"Do not go out to-night, unless you hear from me," he said, impressively. "This may not be as bad as you think, after all. I will go to Midlands and return with what news I can get. Don't act until you are certain of your premises."
The young man was removing his wedding suit, already.
"I shall not go out," he responded, aimlessly.
"You might write a few pages—on your novel," suggested the critic, as he stood in the hallway. "There will never be a better—"
A vigorous movement slammed the door in his face before he could complete his sentence.