Yet Everard Dawn was slow in replying to what many might have considered a compliment.
His eyes rested steadily and gravely on Cinthia’s lover, while his cheek paled to an ashen hue, and the hand that rested on his knee trembled as with an ague chill.
Arthur Varian noticed these signs of deep agitation, and attributed them to parental love. He added, gently:
“It seems cruel to harass you, almost in the first moment of your return, with this matter; but it is not as if I proposed taking Cinthia away from you immediately. We had planned for a Christmas wedding.”
“This is the first of November, Mr. Varian,” he reminded him, coldly.
“Yes, sir; so it would be almost two months before I took Cinthia away,” smilingly.
“My daughter is too young to marry yet. I came home to place her at a convent school in Canada for two years, not dreaming that she had notions of lovers in her childish head,” Everard Dawn continued, gravely.
“You see, sir, we have made other plans,” said Arthur, lightly, not taking him au serieux.
To his surprise, Mr. Dawn answered, frigidly:
“Of course, those plans made without my consent do not carry.”