"Bah!" he exclaimed, picking up his cigar from the grass after listening intently. "You are right. I am becoming nervous. Well, I was on the point of saying——"
"That you will never allow George to marry Daphne. Why?"
"Why? Can you ask? Is not the reason obvious? A man who could desert her on her wedding-day, sending a cold note to the effect that she must never see him more, forfeits her by that very act. Good God! I become mad when I think of his conduct. Remember Daphne's thin, wasted figure and wan, wistful look last spring. She might have died. Grief has killed people before to-day. He must have known how much her heart would be wrung by his conduct, and yet—never a word of explanation from him. No. If he were to return this very night, he should never have her—never!"
"I have often wondered why he took his departure so hurriedly."
"His reason must have been a very bad one if it could not be stated by letter even to his nearest relatives," replied my uncle, speaking in a very bitter tone, for naturally he could not be expected to think well of the man who had deserted his daughter, even though that man were his own nephew. "His flight was accompanied by very suspicious circumstances, you must admit, seeming to point to complicity with, if not to the actual perpetration of crime. He will never return, rest assured of that; and I told Daphne to abandon the idea."
"What was her answer?"
"Tears. 'Look around you,' I said. 'You will soon find a worthier lover. Frank loves you, and you know it.' And I launched out into your praises, for between ourselves, Frank, there is no one to whom I would more willingly give Daphne than yourself."
I suppose I ought to have thanked my uncle for thus championing my cause, but I preferred Daphne's love to turn towards me without being directed by paternal authority, so I merely said:
"What did she say?"