“I came to see you on a matter of business,” he drawled, “but I’m afraid I disturb you.” He had seen the scene in the inner room. Caleb’s height was greater than his, and he looked down at him with an inscrutable face; his temper was quick, but he had the rare advantage of not showing it. “I am quite at leisure,” he said coldly, without the slightest attempt at courtesy. “I had the pleasure of reading your Cresset speech,” said Jacob amusedly, “and I regret that I didn’t hear it. I congratulate you, it was excellent reading.” Trench looked at him keenly. “You didn’t come here this morning to tell me that,” he said. “Come, Mr. Eaton, what is it?” “No,” said Jacob, still smiling, “I didn’t come for that, you’re right. I came to make a business proposition.” There was a pause, and Trench made no reply. Jacob began to find, instead, that his silence was a peculiar and compelling weapon. “You have made me the butt of your speeches,” he continued, with his first touch of anger, “and your attacks are chiefly aimed at the Land Company of which I am the president. I suppose you are fully aware of this?” Caleb smiled involuntarily. “I could not be unaware,” he observed. “Then, perhaps, you are not unaware of what I came for,” Jacob said. “Possibly,” replied Trench, folding his arms and leaning back against the wall, and studying Eaton with a coolly indifferent scrutiny that brought the color to Jacob’s face. “Ah, you have probably been expecting my visit?” he said; “in other words, I suppose you’ve had an object in stirring up this excitement, in directing this attack upon me.” “I have undoubtedly had an object,” Caleb Trench replied, after a moment’s silence. Jacob’s smile was a sneer. “We’re business men, Mr. Trench,” he said; “I’m here this morning to know the size of that object.” Caleb moved slightly, but his arms were still folded on his breast and he still leant against the wall; his cool, unwinking gaze began to dash Eaton’s composure; he could not be the finished and superior gentleman he thought himself, under those relentless eyes. He shifted his own position restlessly, drawing nearer to his adversary. “Come,” he said, “name your price.” “My what?” demanded Trench. “Your price,” Eaton sneered openly, his smooth face crimson. In some way, to his own consciousness, he seemed to be shrinking into insignificance before the other man’s strong personality, his force, his coolness. “Do you suppose, because I have sold goods and handled merchandise, that I am also on a level with my trade?” Caleb asked coolly, so coolly that Jacob was blinded to his peril. “You are a trader,” said he bitingly, “a petty tradesman and a petty politician; as such you have your price.” Caleb turned his face full toward him, and suddenly Eaton realized the terrible light in his eyes. “You lie,” he said slowly, deliberately, each word like a slap in the face; “you are a liar.”