It was a narrow, rather dark room lit by two crimson-curtained windows, and with a gas fire before which Mr. Pope's walking boots were warming for the day. The apartment revealed to Trafford's cursory inspection many of the stigmata of an Englishman of active intelligence and literary tastes. There in the bookcase were the collected works of Scott, a good large illustrated Shakespeare in numerous volumes, and a complete set of bound _Punches_ from the beginning. A pile of back numbers of the _Times_ stood on a cane stool in a corner, and in a little bookcase handy for the occupier of the desk were Whitaker, Wisden and an old peerage. The desk bore traces of recent epistolary activity, and was littered with the printed matter of Aunt Plessington's movements. Two or three recent issues of _The Financial Review of Reviews_ were also visible. About the room hung steel engravings apparently of defunct judges or at any rate of exceedingly grim individuals, and over the mantel were trophies of athletic prowess, a bat witnessing that Mr. Pope had once captained the second eleven at Harrogby. Mr. Pope entered with a stern expression and a sentence prepared. "Well, sir," he said with a note of ironical affability, "to what may I ascribe this--intrusion?" Mr. Trafford was about to reply when Mr. Pope interrupted. "Will you be seated," he said, and turned his desk chair about for himself, and occupying it, crossed his legs and pressed the finger tips of his two hands together. "Well, sir?" he said. Trafford remained standing astraddle over the boots before the gas fire. "Look here, sir," he said; "I am in love with your daughter. She's one and twenty, and I want to see her--and in fact----" He found it hard to express himself. He could think only of a phrase that sounded ridiculous. "I want--in fact--to pay my addresses to her." "Well, sir, I don't want you to do so. That is too mild. I object strongly--very strongly. My daughter has been engaged to a very distinguished and able man, and I hope very shortly to hear that that engagement----Practically it is still going on. I don't want you to intrude upon my daughter further." "But look here, sir. There's a certain justice--I mean a certain reasonableness----" Mr. Pope held out an arresting hand. "I don't wish it. Let that be enough." "Of course it isn't enough. I'm in love with her--and she with me. I'm an entirely reputable and decent person----" "May I be allowed to judge what is or is not suitable companionship for my daughter--and what may or may not be the present state of her affections?" "Well, that's rather the point we are discussing. After all, Marjorie isn't a baby. I want to do all this--this affair, openly and properly if I can, but, you know, I mean to marry Marjorie--anyhow." "There are two people to consult in that matter." "I'll take the risk of that." "Permit me to differ."