“Yes, and you will admit more soon. I shall prove the whole conspiracy.”
“Well, why don't you then?”
“Simply because the matter must be brought about with great caution. You—must allow me a few days, say three or four, and the proofs shall be given.”
“Very well, Sir Robert, but in the meantime I shall not throw Reilly overboard.”
“Could I not be permitted to pay my respects to Miss Folliard before I go, sir?” asked Sir Robert.
“Don't insist upon it,” replied her father; “you know perfectly well that she—that you are no favorite with her.”
“Nothing on earth, sir, grieves me so much,” said the baronet, affecting a melancholy expression of countenance, which was ludicrous to look at.
“Well, well,” said the old man, “as you can't see her now, come and meet Reilly here at dinner the day after to-morrow, and you shall have that pleasure.”
“It will be with pain, sir, that I shall force myself into that person's society; however, to oblige you, I shall do it.”
“Consider, pray consider, Sir Robert,” replied the old squire, all his pride of family glowing strong within him, “just consider that my table, sir, and my countenance, sir, and my sense of gratitude, sir, are a sufficient guarantee to the worth and respectability of any one whom I may ask to my house. And, Sir Robert, in addition to that, just reflect that I ask him to meet my daughter, and, if I don't mistake, I think I love, honor, and respect her nearly as much as I do you. Will you come then, or will you not?”