“I said that you should hear from me within a week. Alter that to three days. Good-by, sir.”
“Good-day!” replied Hamilton; then he called angrily to Theresa, and bade her attend to some household duties while he lectured his guest.
“Sir Harold, it amounts to this: Until I hear from your friends I will not give you permission to harbor the slightest hope regarding my daughter. I even forbid you to speak to her except upon terms of the merest civility. Her young life shall not be ruined!”
“I do not care one atom for the opinion of my friends,” retorted Sir Harold. “Theresa is dearer to me than all else in the world!”
“Wait, wait,” was the testy rejoinder. “You may think differently in a few days’ time.”
“Never,” was the confident reply.
One—two—three days passed, and then a letter and some newspapers came from Colonel Greyson.
This is the letter:
My Dear Mr. Hamilton—I do not think it necessary to subject poor Annesley to a further operation. Let time work its own cure. I left you full of hope, believing that he and Lady Elaine Seabright had been the victims of a misunderstanding, and with the confident intention of bringing them together again. However, I was mistaken in my lady, and send to you papers containing the news of her engagement to another man. This may serve to dissipate any lingering doubts if Sir Harold should recover sooner than we expect. You may use it how you please. The affairs at Annesley Park are in the hands of competent people, and I intend going to the Continent at once for the autumn and winter. I will send you my address later. I strongly counsel you to keep Sir Harold’s whereabouts a secret, or you will be overrun with newspaper reporters, and the distressing notoriety might retard his recovery. As I have practically assumed control of Annesley’s affairs, I inclose you authority to draw upon my bankers for any funds that may be required.
Very faithfully yours,
Everard Greyson.