"I thought," he remarked, "that everything was understood, and that it was a mere matter of arrangement of practical details." "I thought so, too," said Mr. Manners. "Something else, however, has cropped up, which needs explanation." "From me?" inquired Mr. Inglefield. "From you," said Mr. Manners. All Mark Inglefield's astuteness came instantly into play; no wariness was expressed in his face, for the reason that he had complete control over himself, and, on his mettle, was seldom, if ever, to be taken at a disadvantage. "I am ready to give any explanation that may be required," he said, in a tone of modest assurance. "Perhaps it was hardly to be expected that an affair of such importance could be settled without some trifling hitch." It was in his mind to say that the required explanation was nothing that affected his character, but he was prudent enough to arrest the words. No one knew better than himself that this was dangerous ground to approach. If anything was to be said upon the point, it must not come from him. "I was not prepared for any hitch," said Mr. Manners. "When I visited Mr. Hollingworth this evening, I believed that everything would be arranged as you wished." "And as you also wished," said Mark Inglefield, quickly. "Yes; although my interest in the negotiation was naturally less than yours. Do not stand, Inglefield; what we have to say to each other will occupy a few minutes." Mark Inglefield, with inward anxiety and a cheerful exterior, drew a chair to the table and sat down. "Do you love the young lady?" inquired Mr. Manners. "If I did not," replied Mark Inglefield, wondering at the strangeness of the question, "should I desire to marry her?" "That is scarcely an answer," observed Mr. Manners. And now Mark Inglefield suspected that a battle was impending, and that something serious was coming. "Certainly I love her," he said. "Is there any doubt of it, and is that the difficulty?" "That is not the difficulty, but it strikes me now as singular that love was never mentioned in the course of the interview." For the life of him Mark Inglefield could not help remarking: "I was not aware that you were given to sentiment." "Nor am I," retorted Mr. Manners. "I have been all my life a practical man, until lately, when life seems to have been valueless to me." "I am sorry to hear you say that," said Mark Inglefield, with well-simulated sympathy. "The sentimental view of a question," continued Mr. Manners, "is a view I have always ignored. I set my own course, and, rightly or wrongly, have followed it. Whether it has brought me happiness or not affects myself only." "Pardon me for venturing to differ from you," said Mark Inglefield, thinking he saw what might be turned to his advantage; "what you decide upon may affect others as well as yourself." "I am corrected; it may, and has."