The Creators: A Comedy

by May Sinclair

"No, sir, we ain't," reiterated Eldred. "We can't 'ave any such goin's on 'ere."

"Look here—don't be an idiot—it isn't your business, you know, to interfere."

"Not my business? When 'er father left 'er to me? I should like to know what is my business," said Mr. Eldred hotly.

Tanqueray saw that he would have to be patient with him. "Yes, I know. That's all right. Don't you see, Eldred, I'm going to marry her."

But his eagerness woke in Eldred a ghastlier doubt. Rose's uncle stood firmer than ever, not turning his head, but casting at Tanqueray a small, sidelong glance of suspicion.

"And why do you want to marry her, sir? You tell me that."

Tanqueray saw.

"Because I want her. And it's the only way to get her. Do you need me to tell you that?"

The man reddened. "I beg your pardon, sir."

"You beg her pardon, you mean."