He was, as usual, half in jest, half in earnest. The wry twist of humor showed itself at the corners of his lips. Arnold was at a loss how to approach Sir Patrick on the subject of his niece without reminding him of his domestic responsibilities on the one hand, and without setting himself up as a target for the shafts of Sir Patrick’s wit on the other. In this difficulty, he committed a mistake at the outset. He hesitated.
“Don’t hurry yourself,” said Sir Patrick. “Collect your ideas. I can wait! I can wait!”
Arnold collected his ideas—and committed a second mistake. He determined on feeling his way cautiously at first. Under the circumstances (and with such a man as he had now to deal with), it was perhaps the rashest resolution at which he could possibly have arrived—it was the mouse attempting to outmanoeuvre the cat.
“You have been very kind, Sir, in offering me the benefit of your experience,” he began. “I want a word of advice.”
“Suppose you take it sitting?” suggested Sir Patrick. “Get a chair.” His sharp eyes followed Arnold with an expression of malicious enjoyment. “Wants my advice?” he thought. “The young humbug wants nothing of the sort—he wants my niece.”
Arnold sat down under Sir Patrick’s eye, with a well-founded suspicion that he was destined to suffer, before he got up again, under Sir Patrick’s tongue.
“I am only a young man,” he went on, moving uneasily in his chair, “and I am beginning a new life—”
“Any thing wrong with the chair?” asked Sir Patrick. “Begin your new life comfortably, and get another.”
“There’s nothing wrong with the chair, Sir. Would you—”
“Would I keep the chair, in that case? Certainly.”