But Mr. Miller drew back from the young man’s proffered hand.

“Wait, there is no occasion to thank me;” and again his eyes fell sternly upon that unlucky little heap of lace and ribbon.  “I am sorry to tell you that, since I have come here, my friendly and pleasant intentions towards you have undergone a complete change.”

“Sir!”

“Yes, Mr. Pryme; I came here prepared to treat you—­well, I may as well confess it—­as a son, under the belief that you were an upright and honourable man, and were sincerely and honestly attached to my daughter.”

“Mr. Miller, is it possible that you can doubt it?”

The elder man pointed with contemptuous significance to the sunshade before him.

“I find upon your table, young man, the evidences of the recent presence of some wretched woman in your rooms, and your confusion of manner shows me too plainly that you are not the kind of husband to which a man may safely entrust his daughter’s happiness.”

“Mr. Miller, I assure you you are mistaken; it is not so.”

“Every man in this country has a right to justify himself when he is accused.  If I am mistaken, Mr. Pryme, explain to me the meaning of that,” and the heavy forefinger was again levelled at the offending objects before him.

Not one single word could Herbert utter.  In vain ingenious fabrications concerning imaginary sisters, maiden aunts, or aged lady clients rushed rapidly through his brain; the natural answer on Mr. Miller’s part to all such inventions would have been, “Then, where is she?”

Mr. Miller must know as well as he did himself that the lady, whoever she might be, must still be in his rooms, else why should her belongings be left on his table; and if in the rooms, then, as there was no other egress on the staircase than the one by which he had entered, clearly, she must be secreted in his bedroom.  Mr. Miller was not a young man, and his perceptions in matters of intrigue and adventure might no longer be very acute, but it was plain to Herbert that he probably knew quite as well as he did himself that the owner of the gloves and sunshade was in the adjoining room.

“Have you any satisfactory explanation to give me?” asked Mr. Miller, once more, after a solemn silence, during which he glared in a stern and inquisitorial manner over his spectacles at the young man.

“I have nothing to say,” was the answer, given in a low and dejected voice.

Mr. Miller sprang to his feet and hurriedly gathered up his papers.

“Then, sir,” he said, furiously, “I shall wish you good afternoon; and let me assure you, most emphatically, that you must relinquish all claim to my daughter’s hand.  I will never consent to her union with a man whose private life will not bear investigation; and should she disobey me in this matter, she shall never have one single shilling of my money.”