"Yea, my lord; she has in truth told me much. She has told me no doubt all that it behoves a father to hear from a daughter in such circumstances. I live on such terms with my Marion that there are not many secrets kept by either of us from the other." "Then you do know?" "I know that your lordship tendered to her your hand,--honestly, nobly, and truly, as I take it." "With perfect honesty and perfect truth most certainly." "And I know also that she declined the honour thus offered her." "She did." "Is this you, Zachary? How are you this morning?" This came from a stout, short, red-faced man, who stopped them, standing in the middle of the pavement. "Well, I thank thee, Mr. Gruby. At this moment I am particularly engaged. That is Jonathan Gruby," said the Quaker to his companion as soon as the stout man had walked on; "one of the busiest men in the City. You have heard probably of Gruby and Inderwald." Hampstead had never heard of Gruby and Inderwald, and wished that the stout man had been minding his business at that moment. "But as to Miss Fay," he said, endeavouring to continue to tell his love-story. "Yes, as to Marion. I hardly do know what passed between you two, not having heard the reasons she gave thee." "No reasons at all;--nothing worth speaking of between persons who know anything of the world." "Did she tell thee that she did not love thee, my lord?--because that to my thinking would be reason enough." "Nothing of the kind. I don't mean to boast, but I don't see why she should not like me well enough." "Nor in sooth do I either." "What, Zachary; you walking about at this busy time of the day?" "I am walking about, Sir Thomas. It is not customary with me, but I am walking about." Then he turned on his heel, moved almost to dudgeon by the interruption, and walked the other way. "Sir Thomas Bolster, my lord; a very busy sort of gentleman, but one who has done well in the world.--Nor in sooth do I either; but this is a matter in which a young maiden must decide for herself. I shall not bid her not to love thee, but I cannot bid her to do so." "It isn't that, Mr. Fay. Of course I have no right to pretend to any regard from her. But as to that there has been no question." "What did she say to thee?" "Some trash about rank." "Nay, my lord, it is not trash. I cannot hear thee speak so of thine own order without contradiction." "Am I to be like a king in the old days, who was forced to marry any ugly old princess that might be found for him, even though she were odious to him? I will have nothing to do with rank on such terms. I claim the right to please myself, as do other men, and I come to you as father to the young lady to ask from you your assistance in winning her to be my wife." At this moment up came Tribbledale running from the office. "There is Cooke there," said Tribbledale, with much emphasis in his voice, as though Cooke's was a very serious affair; "from Pollock and Austen's."