“Mr. Lind,” said Conolly, decisively: “your daughter is engaged to me.”
Mr. Lind lost his temper, and rose, exclaiming, “I beg you will not repeat that, either here or elsewhere.”
“Pray be seated,” said Conolly courteously.
“I have nothing more to say, sir.”
Conolly rose, as though the interview were at an end, and seemed to wait for his visitor to go.
“We understand one another, I presume,” said Mr. Lind, dubiously.
“Not quite, I think,” said Conolly, relenting. “I should suggest our discussing the matter in full, now that we have a favorable opportunity — if you will be so good.”
Mr. Lind sat down, and said with condescension, “I am quite willing to listen to you.”
“Thank you,” said Conolly. “Will you tell me what your objections are to my engagement with your daughter?”
“I had hoped, sir, that your common sense and knowledge of the world would have rendered an explanation superfluous.”
“They havnt,” said Conolly.
Mr. Lind rose to boiling point again. “Oh, Mr. Conolly, I assure you I have no objection to explain myself: none whatever. I merely wished to spare you as far as possible. Since you insist on my mentioning what I think you must be perfectly well aware of, I can only say that from the point of view of English society our positions are different; and therefore an engagement between you and any member of my family is unsuitable, and — in short — out of the question, however advantageous it might be to you. That is all.”
Mr. Lind considered he had had the better of that, and leaned back in his chair more confidently. Conolly smiled and shook his head, appreciative of the clearness with which Mr. Lind had put his case, but utterly unmoved by it. He considered for a moment, and then said, weighing his words carefully:
“Your daughter, with her natural refinement and delicate habits, is certainly not fit to be married to a foul-mouthed fellow, ignorant, dirty, besotted, and out of place in any company except at the bar in a public house. That is probably your idea of a workman. But the fact of her having consented to marry me is a proof that I do not answer to any such description. As you have hinted, it will be an advantage to me in some ways to have a lady for my wife; but I should have no difficulty in purchasing that advantage, even with my present means, which I expect to increase largely in the course of some years. Do you not underrate your daughter’s personal qualities when you assume that it was her position that induced me to seek her hand?”
“I am quite aware of my daughter’s personal advantages. They are additional reasons against her contracting an imprudent marriage.”
“Precisely. But in what respect would her marriage with me be imprudent? I possess actual competence, and a prospect of wealth. I come of a long lived and healthy family. My name is, beyond comparison, more widely known than yours. [Mr. Lind recoiled]. I now find myself everywhere treated with a certain degree of consideration, which an alliance with your daughter will not diminish.”
“In fact, you are conferring a great honor on my family by condescending to marry into it?”
“I dont understand that way of looking at things, Mr. Lind; and so I leave you to settle the question of honor as you please. But you must not condemn me for putting my position in the best possible light in order to reconcile you to an inevitable fact.”
“What do you mean by an inevitable fact, sir?”
“My marriage, of course. I assure you that it will take place.”
“But I shall not permit it to take place. Do you think to ignore me in the matter?”
“Practically so. If you give your consent, I shall be glad for the sake of Marian, who will be gratified by it. But if you withhold it, we must dispense with it. By opposing us, you will simply — by making Marian’s home unbearable to her — precipitate the wedding.” Conolly, under the influence of having put the case neatly, here relaxed his manner so far as to rest his elbows on the table and look pleasantly at his visitor.
“Do you know to whom you are speaking?” said Mr. Lind, driven by rage and a growing fear of defeat into desperate self-assertion.
“I am speaking,” said Conolly with a smile, “to my future father-in-law.”
“I am a director of this company, of which you are the servant, as you shall find to your cost if you persist in holding insulting language to me.”
“If I found any director of this company allowing other than strictly business considerations to influence him at the Board, I should insist on his resigning.”
Mr. Lind looked at him severely, then indignantly, then unsteadily, without moving him in the least. At last he said, more humbly: “I hope you will not abuse your position, Mr. Conolly. I do not know whether you have sufficient influence over Marian to induce her to defy me; but however that may be, I appeal to your better feelings. Put yourself in my place. If you had an only daughter — —”
“Excuse my interrupting you,” said Conolly, gently; “but that will not advance the argument unless you put yourself in mine. Besides, I am pledged to Marian. If she asks me to break off the match, I shall release her instantly.”
“You will bind yourself to do that?”
“I cannot help myself. I have no more power to make her marry me than you have to prevent her.”
“I have the authority of a parent. And I must tell you, Mr. Conolly, that it will be my duty to enlighten my poor child as to the effect a union with you must have on her social position. You have made the most of your celebrity and your prospects. She may be dazzled for the moment; but her good sense will come to the rescue yet, I am convinced.”
“I have certainly spared no pains to persuade her. Unless the habit of her childhood can induce Marian to defer to your prejudice — you must allow me to call it so: it is really nothing more — she will keep her word to me.”
Mr. Lind winced, recollecting how little his conduct toward Marian during her childhood was calculated to accustom her to his influence. “It seems to me, sir,” he said, suddenly thinking of a new form of reproach, “that, to use your own plain language, you are nothing more or less than a Radical.”
“Radicalism is not considered a reproach amongst workmen,” said Conolly.
“I shall not fail to let her know the confidence with which you boast of your power over her.”
“I have simply tried to be candid with you. You know exactly how I stand. If I have omitted anything, ask me, and I will tell you at once.”
Mr. Kind rose. “I know quite as much as I care to know,” he said. “I distinctly object to and protest against all your proceedings, Mr. Conolly. If my daughter marries you, she shall have neither my countenance in society nor one solitary farthing of the fortune I had destined for her. I recommend the latter point to your attention.”
“I have considered it carefully, Mr. Lind; and I am satisfied with what she possesses in her own right.”
“Oh! You have ascertained that, have you?”
“I should hardly have proposed to marry her but for her entire pecuniary independence of me.”
“Indeed. And have you explained to her that you wish to marry her for the sake of securing her income?”
“I have explained to her everything she ought to know, taking care, of course, to have full credit for my frankness.”
Mr. Lind, after regarding him with amazement for a moment, walked to the door.
“I am a gentleman,” he said, pausing there for a moment, “and