Pollock sat down reluctantly. The house was very quiet; it was a hot day and the air in the room was tense.
“Captain,” said the old gentleman, quietly, with his black eyes resting kindly on the visitor, “I regret very much that you have come to me with this question—”
“I’ve no doubt you do, sir,—” began Pollock, hotly.
“—because,” Merriam continued, paying no heed to the interruption, “you have never in the world done anything to offend me,—not in the slightest. As far as I know, you are a gentleman beyond any question, and worthy of the highest consideration in all places.”
“Then, sir,—”
“Please wait! I regret very much that I should have been led by a feeling, which I should prefer not to explain, into treating you discourteously. A man of my age should have better control of himself,—better manners, if you will.”
He raised his right hand and stared at the palm quite unconsciously. It was a habit of his when thoughtful.
Pollock felt his anger cooling under the old gentleman’s composure. There was something fine in it, that impressed him in spite of himself. Moreover, his curiosity was piqued. He had expected to call, demand an explanation and retire, after giving the old gentleman in Seminary Square a piece of his mind. He had not the slightest idea that Rodney Merriam had any particular reason for slighting him; though it had occurred to him that as a self-appointed guardian of Zelda Dameron, Merriam might have seen in him a possible suitor and sought to eliminate him from the possibilities by treating him contemptuously.
Merriam had finished inspecting his hand and he dropped it upon his knee and met Pollock’s eyes again.
“I should very much prefer to dismiss this matter. As I have said, I have no grievance against you personally. I am perfectly willing to apologize and to meet you in a friendly spirit. To repeat, I have let an old prejudice get the better of my good sense. I trust this will be satisfactory.”