He walked rapidly to a remote portion of the park, where, out of the sight and sound of every one, he paced back and forth under the trees, muttering fierce imprecations upon some one, and gesticulating in a wild and angry manner.
“I must get away from here at once,” he muttered. “Whatever could have possessed them to follow us here? Of course she cannot know anything, and what especial interest can she have in my daughter? But I’m terribly afraid some unlucky remark or question will expose all—Editha is so charmingly ingenuous,” he went on, with sarcastic bitterness; “and I have lost enough already—I will not be balked at this late day. I have fought fate all my life, and now I’ll conquer or die. We will get out of this place instantly; and since they are French, they will not mind, perhaps, if we take ‘French leave.’”
A half-hour or more Mr. Dalton spent by himself giving vent to his anger and vexation, and then, in a somewhat calmer frame of mind, he went to seek Editha to return to their hotel. He was obliged to search some time, for the throng was immense, and it was no easy matter to discover a person once lost sight of.
But he found them at length all together, Madam Sylvester and her brother, Mr. Tressalia and Editha, standing by one of the fountains, as if they had just arisen from their seats and were contemplating retiring from the place.
Madam was standing by Editha, her arm lightly clasping her waist, and talking in her gentle, charming way, while the young girl’s eyes were fixed upon her face in a look of earnest admiration.
“A very touching scene,” sneered Mr. Dalton, as he came in sight of them. “A clear case of mutual affinity that is remarkable under the circumstances. My daughter seems to possess a power of attraction in certain directions that is truly wonderful.”
He stood looking at the group for a few moments with a dark frown upon his brow, and as if undecided whether it was best to advance or retreat.
He seemed at length to decide upon the latter course, for he turned, and was about slipping away, when Editha espied him, and called out:
“There he is now. Papa, come here, please;” and she went toward him, drawing Madam Sylvester with her. “I want to introduce you to my friend, Madam Sylvester,” she said, with a sweet smile, and all unsuspicious of the tempest raging within Mr. Dalton’s bosom.
It was done, and there was no escape now; but it was a very pale face that Sumner Dalton bent before madam and the steel-like glitter of his eyes repelled her, and made her think of Editha as a poor lamb in the clutches of a wolf.