Colonel Lane looked coldly on. He waited till Philip had freed himself from the clinging arms, then he said: “Annie, leave us, I beg of you!”
Mrs. Barrimore, with her chin on her breast and her eyes streaming with tears, left the room obediently.
Colonel Lane closed the door he had held open for her to pass out; then he folded his arms and advanced towards Philip.
Uncle Robert’s ruddy face had paled.
“Where is my daughter, you scoundrel?” demanded the Colonel.
This was too much for Philip. He had been harassed out of his life these last days. He had done what he honestly believed to be the best for a girl for whom he now felt something akin to contempt—and her father stood there calling him a scoundrel. He was not disposed to at once relieve the old soldier’s tension.
“I have had quite enough of her!” he answered curtly.
“What!” roared the soldier. “Do you mean to tell me that you have left that poor deluded girl, after taking her away! Tell me where she is? Tell me, I say, you contemptible cur!”
Philip was white with passion. “I wish I had never seen your daughter,” he said with feeling, “and I pity the man who has got her.”
Colonel Lane grasped the young man’s shoulder fiercely, while he hissed: “Explain that!”