"Very well. But Mr. Loveday does not travel alone in this caravan; he has a person he calls his daughter with him."
"It is coming," thought Kingsley, and he set his teeth fast, and said': "His daughter, a lady, travels with him."
"So far, then, my facts are indisputable. This young woman is described to me as an artful, designing person who has used all her arts to entangle you--because you have a rich father."
"Who dares say that?" cried Kingsley, starting up with flashing eyes.
"My informant. I understand, also, that some months since she contracted secretly a disreputable marriage, and that her husband--do not interrupt me for a moment, Kingsley--has conveniently disappeared in order to give her time to bleed you, through your rich father. To go through the ceremony again would be a light matter with her."
"It is a horrible calumny," cried Kingsley, in great excitement.
"Although," pursued Mr. Manners, exhibiting no agitation in his voice or manner, "the circumstances of my own private life have not made me personally familiar with the tricks of adventuresses, I have in the course of my experiences learned sufficient of them to make me abhor them. How much deeper must be my abhorrence now when such a woman steps in between me and my son to destroy a cherished design which can only be carried out in his person! I will listen to no vindication, Kingsley. Before you arrived home to-night I had a strong hope that some mistake had been made in the information which has reached me concerning your proceedings. I was wrong; it is unhappily too true."
"You received the information from an enemy of mine."
"No, Kingsley, from a friend."
"Ah!" There was here, even in the utterance of the simple word, a singular resemblance between father and son. Kingsley's voice no longer betrayed excitement, and his manner became outwardly calm. "There is only one so-called friend who could have supplied you with the information--my cousin, Mark Inglefield."