The silversmith grew pale with anger during this speech of his son’s.

“You are a consummate scoundrel,” he said, “and are at liberty to think what you please.  I tell you, once for all, I am as poor as Job.  But if I had a million, I would not give you a sixpence of it.”

“So be it,” the other answered gaily.  “I have not performed the duties of a parent very punctually hitherto; but I don’t mind taking some trouble to find this girl while I am in England, in order that she may not lose her chances with you.”

“You need give yourself no trouble on that score.  Mr. Fenton has promised to find her for me.”

“Indeed!  I should like to see this Mr. Fenton.”

“You can see him if you please; but you are scarcely likely to get a warm reception in that quarter.  Mr. Fenton knows what you have been to your daughter and to me.”

“I am not going to fling myself into his arms.  I only want to hear all he can tell me about Marian.”

“How long do you mean to stay in England?”

“That is entirely dependent upon the result of my visit.  I had hoped that if I found you living, which I most earnestly desired might be the case, I should find in you a friend and coadjutor.  I am employed in starting a great iron company, which is likely—­I may say certain—­to result in large gains to all concerned in it; and I fancied I should experience no difficulty in securing your co-operation.  There are the prospectuses of the scheme” (he flung a heap of printed papers on the table before his father), “and there is not a line in them that I cannot guarantee on my credit as a man of business.  You can look over them at your leisure, or not, as you please.  I think you must know that I always had an independent spirit, and would be the last of mankind to degrade myself by any servile attempt to alter your line of conduct towards me.”

“Independent spirit!  Yes!” cried the old man in a mocking tone; “a son extorts every sixpence he can from his father and mother—­ay, Percy, from his weak loving mother; I know who robbed me to send you money—­and then, when he can extort no more, boasts of his independence.  But that will do.  There is no need that we should quarrel.  After twenty years’ severance, we can afford to let bygones be bygones.  I have told you that I am glad to see you.  If you come to me with disinterested feelings, that is enough.  You may take back your prospectuses.  I have nothing to embark in Yankee speculations.  If your scheme is a good one, you will find plenty of enterprising spirits willing to join you; if it is a bad one, I daresay you will contrive to find dupes.  You can come and see me again when you please.  And now good-night.  I find this kind of talk rather tiring at my age.”

“One word before I leave you,” said Percival.  “On reflection, I think it will be as well to say nothing about my presence in England to this Mr. Fenton.  I shall be more free to hunt for Marian without his co-operation, even supposing he were inclined to give it.  You have told me all that he could tell me, I daresay.”