Why was he so anxious to get me away?  Who, or what, was he hiding behind the screen?  The servant had said his daughter was upstairs; remembering this, and suspecting every action or word that came from him, I determined to remain in the room, and discover his secret.  It was evidently connected with me.

“Now then,” he continued, opening the door a little wider, “it’s only across the hall, you know; and I always receive visitors in the best room.”

“I have been admitted here,” I replied, “and have neither time nor inclination to follow you from room to room, just as you like.  What I have to say is not much; and, unless you give me fit reasons to the contrary, I shall say it here.”

“You will, will you?  Let me tell you that’s damned like what we plain mercantile men call downright incivility.  I say it again—­incivility; and rudeness too, if you like it better.”  He saw I was determined, and closed the door as he spoke, his face twitching and working violently, and his quick, evil eyes turned again in the direction of the screen.

“Well,” he continued, with a sulky defiance of manner and look, “do as you like; stop here—­you’ll wish you hadn’t before long, I’ll be bound!  You don’t seem to hurry yourself much about speaking, so I shall sit down. You can do as you please.  Now then! just let’s cut it short—­do you come here in a friendly way, to ask me to send for my girl downstairs, and to show yourself the gentleman, or do you not?”

“You have written me two letters, Mr. Sherwin—­”

“Yes:  and took devilish good care you should get them—­I left them myself.”

“In writing those letters, you were either grossly deceived; and, in that case, are only to be pitied, or—­”

“Pitied! what the devil do you mean by that?  Nobody wants your pity here.”

“Or you have been trying to deceive me; and in that case, I have to tell you that deceit is henceforth useless.  I know all—­more than you suspect:  more, I believe, than you would wish me to have known.”

“Oh, that’s your tack, is it?  By God, I expected as much the moment you came in!  What! you don’t believe my girl—­don’t you?  You’re going to fight shy, and behave like a scamp—­are you?  Damn your infernal coolness and your aristocratic airs and graces!  You shall see I’ll be even with you—­you shall.  Ha! ha! look here!—­here’s the marriage certificate safe in my pocket.  You won’t do the honourable by my poor child—­won’t you?  Come out!  Come away!  You’d better—­I’m off to your father to blow the whole business; I am, as sure as my name’s Sherwin!”

He struck his fist on the table, and started up, livid with passion.  The screen trembled a little, and a slight rustling noise was audible behind it, just as he advanced towards me.  He stopped instantly, with an oath, and looked back.

“I warn you to remain here,” I said.  “This morning, my father has heard all from my lips.  He has renounced me as his son, and I have left his house for ever.”