“You have? They are in Naples?”
“They are here!” cried Tom, excitedly. “In this very hotel, where I’ve been drawn by a sort of filial—no, that’s not it—fraternal magnetic attraction, and now.”
“Stop,” cried Melton. “I thought you were not going to interfere.”
“That’s what I thought,” said Tom, “a little while ago; but hang it all, now I am under the same roof with the scoundrel who deluded my poor sister away, curse his Italian blood, I’ll strangle him.”
“But you must be wrong, Tom; such a man as you suspect would not stay in an hotel like this. What do you say, Miss Wilder?”
“I say,” cried Tryphie, with a malicious look, “that there seems to be some mistake.”
“Tryphie—Tryphie, my child!” came from without.
“Coming, aunt,” said the girl, rising.
“Not a word to the old girl, Tryphie,” cried Tom.
“Not tell her?”