“Nonsense!” said the squire, almost impatiently. “That is not the face of a man in hiding from the consequences of some vulgar crime. There was not a trace of vice in it. Sad and melancholy it was, without doubt, but——Why did he go off like that?”
Olivia was silent a moment.
“You heard what Mr. Sparrow said, papa. He is a woman-hater.”
“What, Sparrow!” exclaimed the squire, staring at her.
“No, no; this—this Mr. Faradeane.”
“And he takes the trouble—and gets knocked about—in saving a girl’s life. What rubbish!” he said. “That is a poor kind of woman-hater. Sparrow has got hold of some cock-and-bull story. I scarcely listened to him this afternoon, and don’t remember what it was he said; but it is nonsense, utter nonsense. This man is a gentleman. I never saw a finer face.” He paused and knit his brows. “Now I recall it, I seem to think that I remember having seen it before.”
Olivia drew nearer to him with an eager expression in her beautiful eyes.
“Papa!”
“Yes,” he said, “I have a vague kind of impression, but I can’t fix it. Are you coming now?”
Olivia breathed a short sigh of disappointment.