He sat and glowered at me like one in doubt and a good deal of temper.
“So that this is to be the way of it,” I concluded. “I will marry Miss Drummond, and that blithely, if she is entirely willing. But if there be the least unwillingness, as I have reason to fear—marry her will I never.”
“Well, well,” said he, “this is a small affair. As soon as she returns I will sound her a bit, and hope to reassure you——”
But I cut in again. “Not a finger of you, Mr. Drummond, or I cry off, and you can seek a husband to your daughter somewhere else,” said I. “It is I that am to be the only dealer and the only judge. I shall satisfy myself exactly; and none else shall anyways meddle—you the least of all.”
“Upon my word, sir!” he exclaimed, “and who are you to be the judge?”
“The bridegroom, I believe,” said I.
“This is to quibble,” he cried. “You turn your back upon the facts. The girl, my daughter, has no choice left to exercise. Her character is gone.”
“And I ask your pardon,” said I, “but while this matter lies between her and you and me, that is not so.”
“What security have I?” he cried. “Am I to let my daughter’s reputation depend upon a chance?”
“You should have thought of all this long ago,” said I, “before you were so misguided as to lose her; and not afterwards, when it is quite too late. I refuse to regard myself as any way accountable for your neglect, and I will be brow-beat by no man living. My mind is quite made up, and, come what may, I will not depart from it a hair’s-breadth. You and me are to sit here in company till her return; upon which, without either word or look from you, she and I are to go forth again to hold our talk. If she can satisfy me that she is willing to this step, I will then make it; and if she cannot, I will not.”