Mr. Verinder let everything fall, and pressed for counsel.
And then Mr. Williams, bracing himself to the effort and striking out boldly, advised that in his opinion Dyke should be at once tackled.
“Tackled?” said Mr. Verinder. “What do you mean by tackled?”
Mr. Williams meant brought to book, called to account, and so forth; and he said something that Mr. Verinder grasped at because it echoed a hope that he was still glad not to abandon altogether. Mr. Williams considered that, although there had been impropriety in Dyke’s attitude, they might be very wrong in assuming that he really entertained bad motives.
“Why jump to the conclusion that he intends harm? Tackle him, and he himself may express regret and discontinue the annoyance. Would you wish me to write him a letter?”
“No,” said Mr. Verinder. “But perhaps an interview here, in your presence?”
Mr. Williams, not taking to this idea, suggested that it would be better to get hold of Dyke informally; and after further talk it was decided that Eustace Verinder should go to him not for the real tackling, but for a preliminary skirmish in which an interview with the young lady’s father should be arranged.
“You know him personally?” asked Mr. Williams.
“No,” said Eustace, sneering slightly. “As yet I have not had the privilege of setting eyes on this gentleman.”
“One moment,” said Mr. Williams, picking up the notes. “I have his address here. It is care of his bankers—a bank in Fleet Street.”