Rufus lifted one wiry yellow forefinger, in a state of perpendicular protest. “He cannot stop the marriage,” the sagacious New Englander admitted; “but he can stop the money, my son. Find out how you stand with him before another day is over your head.”
“I can’t go to him this evening.” said Amelius; “he dines out.”
“Where is he now?”
“At his place of business.”
“Fix him at his place of business. Right away!” cried Rufus, springing with sudden energy to his feet.
“I don’t think he would like it,” Amelius objected. “He’s not a very pleasant fellow, anywhere; but he’s particularly disagreeable at his place of business.”
Rufus walked to the window, and looked out. The objections to Mr. Farnaby appeared to fail, so far, in interesting him.
“To put it plainly,” Amelius went on, “there’s something about him that I can’t endure. And—though he’s very civil to me, in his way—I don’t think he has ever got over the discovery that I am a Christian Socialist.”
Rufus abruptly turned round from the window, and became attentive again. “So you told him that—did you?” he said.
“Of course!” Amelius rejoined, sharply. “Do you suppose I am ashamed of the principles in which I have been brought up?”