Editha was weeping quietly now. The tears would come in spite of her, though she marveled at his words.
“Come, Editha, I have an engagement at four, and it lacks only fifteen minutes of that hour now.”
The words were spoken in cold, measured tones at her side.
The fair girl started, flushed, and glanced around at the speaker in surprise, as if unaccustomed to being addressed in that manner.
“Yes, papa, I will come; but I wanted to say good-by to Earle.”
“Ah, yes—ahem! I’m truly sorry for poor Earle,” Mr. Dalton said, addressing him with a good deal of coldness and a very poor show of sympathy, while he glanced impatiently at his daughter. “Very unfortunate complication of circumstances,” he went on, his gold repeater in his hand, and his eyes watching attentively the minute hand as it crept toward the hour of his engagement. “The evidence was strangely conclusive, and I wish for your sake it could have been refuted; but really, Editha, we must not delay longer.”
Earle Wayne bowed coldly to the would-be comforter, and stepped back as if to end the interview.
He knew Mr. Dalton was no friend to him, and his words, which contained no sincerity, were intolerable to him.
“Good-by, Miss Dalton,” he said, holding out his hand to Editha, and which she had dropped upon hearing Mr. Dalton’s stern tones.
That gentleman frowned darkly at the act.