Colonel Mires was bursting to ask for the circumstances which led to this confession on the part of Flora. He could easily understand that it must have arisen from a proposition made by her father to her, extremely repugnant to her feelings. He had an instinctive sense that he was not the object of her father’s choice, and he was at least glad that Flora had rejected the proposed husband, whoever he might be.
It was not difficult for him at the same time to form a shrewd guess at the person Flora had acknowledged loving. From the frame of mind in which Wilton was at present, he foresaw that it would be easy to ruin the successful rival in Wilton’s estimation at once, and, as he believed, for ever; he therefore instantly resolved to attempt it.
“Have you formed no surmise identifying the person who has inveigled your daughter’s affections?” he asked. “I have” replied Wilton, drily.
“May I ask who it is?”
“I prefer hearing your communication first,” responded Wilton, in the same hard manner.
“I think I can show him to you, and at this moment,” exclaimed Mires, rising.
“I am afraid that I expect you can,” returned Wilton, growing more stern, severe, and cold in his manner.
“Attend me, if you please,” observed Mires; noticing the distant manner of his host.
He advanced to the centre window, which looked out upon the terrace beneath. He motioned to Wilton to gaze below. He pointed out Hal Vivian, who stood in an attitude of melancholy abstraction, his gaze seemingly fixed upon the beautiful landscape, stretching away to the horizon.
“That is the man,” he exclaimed, emphatically.