“No,” replied Colonel Mires; “nor did you notice his marked, though quiet, attentions to your daughter; his incessant gaze upon her eyes when she was present; his subdued, yet devoted, bearing to her; the cunning manner in which he turned every word from her lips into an acknowledgment of love, or asked for grateful remembrances of an act which the Royal Society’s fire-escape conductor would have done much better, and have expected scarcely scanty thanks for the able performance of his duty. You did not observe how he foisted his society upon her at every turn, because you never dreamed that he would be guilty of such presumption, any more than you could have any conception that he had induced her to consent to clandestine meetings, or of the number of such interviews which have taken place.”
Old Wilton sprang to his feet, with a howl of wounded rage and pride.
“Colonel Mires, this is a most grave charge,” he cried, with foaming lips. “It is one that compromises my daughter’s fair fame, as well as the honour of young Mr. Vivian, of whom, until you have spoken concerning him, I have heard nothing but what redounds to his credit.”
Colonel Mires sneered.
“Praises, in fact,” he said, “which have been prepared for your ears. Do not misapprehend me, Mr. Wilton,” he continued, hastily; “I have no intention or design to compromise the fair fame of Miss Wilton. She is too pure, too ingenuous and artless for any charge having such object, to be sustained. But her simple guileless nature lays her open to the designs of an unprincipled adventurer, who, by adventitious circumstances, has obtained some influence over her, and she might be induced to consent to an interview artfully suggested, and ardently pressed, without having, in her simplicity, any notion that her assent would bear a construction unfavourable to her—to any lady acting in the same manner, under similar influence.”
Mr. Wilton waved his hand sternly.
“Let us keep to facts, Colonel,” he said. “You are now charging upon my daughter and Mr. Vivian the grave impropriety of indulging in clandestine interviews—are you prepared with proofs?”
“I can speak to one having occurred yesterday,” replied Colonel Mires.
“Yesterday!” echoed Wilton. “You are mistaken, you must he. Vivian did not arrive from London until to-day—that is, at least—are you sure of what you assert?”
“I saw him in your park yesterday—let him deny it if he dare.”