“Then you do not know all the story, papa.”
“Perhaps I know it better than you do, my darling girl, and, strange to say, Chester Olyphant has been known to me for years. His father and mother were dear friends of mine, and I knew their boy when he was a little curly-headed chap in kilts. Naturally, I lost sight of him afterward in my exile.”
Leola cried, bitterly:
“You lost sight of him, so you did not know he grew up to be an unworthy scion of a good family—a heartless trifler with women’s hearts.”
“Grave charges, my daughter!”
“You said that you knew all, dear papa.”
“Yes, I have heard both sides of the story, and you know only one, Leola.”
“Papa!”
“You know only one,” he repeated.
Leola cried, passionately: