“This may be very humorous,” I said, brusquely. “Perhaps it is—to you. But—Bayliss, you know more of this than I. I am certain now that you do. I want you to tell me what you know. Is that girl Frances Morley? Have you seen her? Where is she?”
He had stopped laughing. Now he seemed to be considering.
“Then you did come over here to find her,” he said, more slowly still. “You were following her, why?”
“WHY?”
“Yes, why. She is nothing to you. You told my father that. You told me that she was not your niece. You told Father that you had no claim upon her whatever and that she had asked you not to try to trace her or to learn where she was. You said all that and preached about respecting her wish and all that sort of thing. And yet you are here now trying to find her.”
The only answer I could make to this was a rather childish retort.
“And so are you,” I said.
His fists clinched.
“I!” he cried, fiercely. “I! Did I ever say she was nothing to me? Did I ever tell anyone I should not try to find her? I told you, only the other day, that I would find her in spite of the devil. I meant it. Knowles, I don't understand you. When I came to you thinking you her uncle and guardian, and asked your permission to ask her to marry me, you gave that permission. You did. You didn't tell me that she was nothing to you. I don't understand you at all. You told my father a lot of rot—”
“I told your father the truth. And, when I told you that she had left no message for you, that was the truth also. I have no reason to believe she cares for you—”