By this time, Marcus had got his constitutional devil a little under control.  There was something of real boldness and honesty in his eyes, as he answered: 

“This is a distressing subject to talk or think of.  But now that it has been brought before us, I demand a full investigation.  Go, wherever you will, among those who know me, and inquire into my character.  Recall everything that has occurred between us since the beginning of our acquaintance.  Ask your daughter if I have ever spoken a word to her, or cast a look at her, which could justify these infamous insinuations.  Thus much I ask of you, in justice to me.”

“And I refuse, sir,” said the inventor.  “I will not insult you by an unworthy suspicion.  The world is full of impertinent people, and we can no more stop their gabble, than that of swallows in the air.  This nameless fellow signs himself ‘One of Many,’ That is probably a lie.  But if there were thousands like himself prying into your and my affairs, I should not care.  As for motives, none but fools and misanthropes trouble themselves about them.”

The inventor tossed off the last sentence contemptuously.  But Marcus knew that he did attach a great importance to motives; although he could not fairly be ranked either among the misanthropes or the fools.  He therefore replied: 

“The whole world is welcome to inquire into my motives.  As I understand them, they are:  First, I take pleasure in your society, sir, because, like myself, you are a quiet, thinking man.  Second, you have a hobby—­your machine, there—­and I admire people with hobbies.  Third, I am fond of children, and—­and—­your daughter is a very pleasant, intelligent child.  Fourth, you have insisted on selling me an interest in your invention, in return for a small loan, and that fact would draw me here, if nothing else did.  These are motives enough to satisfy the most inquisitive mind, I should think.”

Marcus said this with an attempt at a light laugh.  But there was one motive not yet confessed—­a motive which could hardly be called a motive, for it lay dim and half-formed within his brain.  He had never, in his moments of self-inquisition, acknowledged its existence to himself.  How could he, then, venture to disclose it to another?  It was the suppression of this immature motive, that brought back that look of deceit and guilt to Marcus Wilkeson’s ingenuous face.

This unfortunate physiognomical revelation was not lost upon the keen eyes of the inventor.  But he said: 

“Mr. Wilkeson, let us not say another word on this ridiculous subject.  I am ashamed of myself for showing you the letter.  I ought to have thrown it into the fire.”

“There I differ with you, my dear sir,” said Marcus.  “You did perfectly right, and I am glad that I have had the opportunity to define my position here clearly, once and for all.”  Marcus could not avoid saying this much in mere civility to the inventor, but he indulged the private opinion that that gentleman should have burned the anonymous note.