“I may say at once that I prefer to remain in my present grade.”

He was watching Lind as he spoke.  There was a slight, scarcely perceptible, movement of the eyebrows; that was all.  The quiet courtesy of his manner remained undisturbed.

“That is your decision, then?” he said, just as if some trifling matter had been arranged.

“Perhaps I need not bother you with my reasons,” Brand continued, speaking slowly and with precision, “but there are several.”

“I have no doubt you have given the subject serious consideration,” said Mr. Lind, without expressing any further interest or curiosity.

Now this was not at all what George Brand wanted.  He wanted to have his suspicions allayed or confirmed.  He wanted to let this man know how he read the situation.

“One reason I may as well name to you, Mr. Lind,” said he, being forced to speak more plainly.  “If I were to marry, I should like to give my wife a proper home.  I should not like her to marry a pauper—­one dependent on the complaisance of other people.  And really it has seemed to me strange that you, with your daughter’s future, your daughter’s interests to think of, should have made this proposal—­”

Lind interrupted him with a slight deprecatory motion of the hand.

“Pardon me,” said he.  “Let us confine ourselves to business, if you please.”

“I presume it is a man’s business to provide for the future of his wife,” said Brand, somewhat hotly, his pride beginning to kick against this patronizing graciousness of manner.

“I must beg of you, my dear sir,” said Mr. Lind, with the same calm courtesy, “to keep private interests and projects entirely outside of this matter, which relates to the Society alone, and your duty, and the wishes of those with whom you are associated.  You have decided?—­very well.  I am sorry; but you are within your right.”

“How can you talk like that?” said Brand, bluntly.  “Sorry that your daughter is not to marry a beggar?”

“I must decline to have Natalie introduced into this subject in any way whatever,” said Mr. Lind.

“Let us drop the subject, then,” said Brand, in a friendly way, for he was determined to have some further enlightenment.  “Now about Natalie.  May I ask you plainly if you have any objection to a marriage between her and myself?”

The answer was prompt and emphatic.

“I have every objection.  I have said before that it would be inexpedient in many ways.  It is not to be thought of.”

Brand was not surprised by this refusal; he had expected it; he had put the question as a matter of form.

“Now one other question, Mr. Lind, and I shall be satisfied,” said he, watching the face of the man opposite him with a keen scrutiny.  “Was it ever your intention, at any time, to give your consent to our marriage, in any circumstances whatever?”

Ferdinand Lind was an admirable actor.