offended I cannot say. A ferocious little man, whispering across the table to me in tones of suppressed passion, took all my attention.
"You decline to give you reasons, Frank Staples, but I can see through them well enough," he declared. "You think you will be able to make it right with the Coppinghams, buy out the Priory mortgagee, and at the same time conciliate Aunt Harriet. Let me tell you, sir, you are playing a dangerous game!"
"I quite feel that," I admitted.
"For supposing the Brandon boundary decision is reversed, where will you be then?"
"That's the weak spot," I agreed. "Where, indeed? What would you advise?"
"You can hardly expect me to advise you at this point," he replied, becoming more amiable, "but mark this: you will bitterly repent putting any reliance on your Uncle Tapping's promises. I can see that he is behind you in this, but he is only using you for his own ends. You will soon find out that he isn’t what you think he is."
"No, no," I replied. "I can't believe that. I am sure old Uncle Tapping is all right. He is much more likely to find out soon that I am not what he thinks I am."
Mr. Frobisher's formal voice broke off this agreeable conversation.
"I now have to put a crucial question to you, Mr. Staples," he was saying. And then it came: "Do you agree to marry Hilda Basset?"
I suppose that I might have been prepared for the ridiculous family agreement leading up to something of this sort, but, as a matter of fact, I couldn't have been more completely taken by surprise. In my indignation I clean forgot that I was merely an involuntary proxy.
