"I trust, sir, that nothing disagreeable has happened."
Yet some seconds passed before his uncle did speak. When he did it was with a hard sort of ferocity which his listener felt accorded well with the singularity of his appearance.
"You took my daughter to the Palace Theatre last night."
Rodney wondered from whom he had learned the fact, being convinced that it was not from his daughter. However, since he could scarcely ask, he tried another line, one which he was conscious went close to the verge of insolence.
"I hope, sir, that the Palace is not a theatre to which you object. Just now it has one of the best entertainments in London."
Only in a very narrow sense could his uncle's response be regarded as a reply to his words.
"You're an infernal young scoundrel!"
Rodney did not attempt to feign resentment he did not feel. His quickly-moving wits told him that he was at last brought face to face with a position which he had for some time foreseen, and that for him the best attitude would probably be one of modest humility--at least, to begin with.
"I don't think, sir, you are entitled to use such language to me on such slight grounds."
"Don't you? You--you--beauty!"