“At all events, it’s made up now,” answered the landlord, curtly.

“This letter has caused you to decide against me, then?”

“That letter?  Well, of course it has.  Not that there ain’t a heap of other reasons; but that one’s enough, I should think, even for you.”

“It is just such a letter as I should have expected Carew to pen,” observed Richard, coolly, “and does not alter the facts of the case as I stated them to you one whit.  That my father is furious with me is clear enough; that is, because he is in the wrong, and feels it.  He is angry, you see, even with Mr. Whymper, because he knows that his view of my case is such as I described to you.  I confessed from the first that my interest at Crompton was a contingent one.  You are treating me with great injustice, Mr. Trevethick.”

“What!  Have you so much brass left as to say that?  You, that have asked my permission to pay court to my daughter, under the pretense that you were a fine gentleman, independent at present, and the heir-presumptive to one of the richest commoners in the kingdom!  How durst you do it?  You vagabond! you scoundrel!”

“You will be sorry for having said those words some day,” said Richard, hoarsely; he was choking with rage, and yet it was necessary to restrain himself.  He felt that this man would presently forbid him his house—­would separate him from his Harry forever; and that would be like tearing out his heart-strings.  Always audacious, there was nothing that he was not now prepared to say or do to avert this.  “I tell you, Mr. Trevethick, this letter is full of lies, or rather it is written by a madman.  I am not a bastard; I am not a pauper.  I have an independence of my own, though, indeed, it is small compared with my expectations.  My mother makes me a good allowance.  I am a gentleman, and I have a right to be listened to by any man, when I ask leave to be his daughter’s lover.”

“Let us leave alone your gentility, Sir, and your mother’s allowances,” sneered the landlord, “since there is no means of gauging either the one or the other.  As for your independent property—­I don’t believe you have a hundred pounds in the world; but it is easy enough to prove that I am mistaken there.  Let me see the money down.  Show me your three or four thousand pounds in gold, or notes that I know, for I must needs be particular with so clever a young gentleman; notes of the Bank of England, or of the Miners’ Bank at Plymouth.  Let me hold them in my hand, and then I shall feel that you are speaking the truth.  At present, I tell you fairly, that if I saw a check of yours, I should look upon it as so much waste paper until I also saw it honored.”

“Three thousand pounds is a large sum, Mr. Trevethick,” said Richard, thoughtfully.