His expression altered slightly, I thought.
“Well?” he asked, twisting his cigar thoughtfully in his fingers. “Speak; I’m listening.”
For a second I hesitated. Then, in a blundering way, blurted forth—
“The fact is, Mr. Pennington, I love Sylvia! She has promised to become my wife, and I am here to beg your consent.”
He half rose from his chair, staring at me in blank amazement.
“What?” he cried. “Sylvia loves you—a perfect stranger?”
“She does,” was my calm response. “And though I may be a stranger to you, Mr. Pennington, I hope it may not be for long. I am not without means, and I am in a position to maintain your daughter properly, as the wife of a country gentleman.”
He was silent for a few moments, his brows knit thoughtfully, his eyes upon the fine ring upon his well-manicured hand.
“What is your income?” he asked quite bluntly, raising his keen eyes to mine.
I told him, giving him a few details concerning my parentage and my possessions.