"Not yet; let us have a little chat together first."
Of course, after so long a separation, such old and tried friends would find a great deal to say to each other. The time slipped away very fast, and half an hour afterward Mr. Egerton, coming in without ringing—a liberty he sometimes took of late—found them seated close together on the sofa, talking earnestly, Elsie with her hand in that of her friend, and a face even brighter and happier than its wont.
Mr. Travilla had one of those faces that often seem to come to a stand-still as regards age, and to scarcely know any change for many years. He was at this time thirty-four, but would have passed readily for twenty-five. Egerton thought him no more than that, and at once took him for a successful rival.
"Excuse me, Miss Dinsmore," he said, bowing stiffly, "I should have waited to ring, but—"
"Oh, never mind, Mr. Egerton," she said; "let me introduce you to my old friend, Mr. Travilla—"
But she stopped in astonishment and dismay. Mr. Travilla had risen, and the two stood confronting each other like mortal foes.
Mr. Travilla was the first to speak. "I have met you before, sir!" he said with stern indignation.
"Indeed! that must be a mistake, sir, for upon my word and honor I never set eyes on you before."
"Your honor! the honor of a sharper, a black-leg, a ——"
"Sir, do you mean to insult me? by what right do you apply such epithets to me? Pray where did you ever meet me?"