The visitor's hand, fingers outspread, returned to his knee.
"Thank you. I have one more question to ask. Do you intend, without trying to prevent it, to let your daughter throw away her every chance of future happiness? Are you, Florence's father, going to let her marry Sidwell?"
With one motion Scotty was on his feet. The eyes behind the thick lenses fairly flashed.
"You are insulting, sir," he blazed. "I can stand much from you, Ben Blair, but this interference in my family affairs I cannot overlook. I request you to leave my premises!"
Blair did not stir. His face remained as impassive as before.
"Your pardon again," he said steadily, "but I refuse. I did not come to quarrel with you, and I won't; but we will have an understanding—now. Sit down, please."
The Englishman stared, almost with open mouth. Had any one told him he would be coerced in this way within his own home he would have called that person mad; nevertheless, the first flash of anger over, he said no more.
"Sit down, please," repeated Ben; and this time, without a word or a protest, he was obeyed.
Ben straightened in his seat, then leaned forward. "Mr. Baker," he said, "you do not doubt that I love Florence—that I wish nothing but her good?"
Scotty nodded a reluctant assent.