He really could not get his lips to shape the word “enemy.”
“Acting still as your friend, I hope and believe,” observed Vivian, as the old man paused.
Wilton turned quickly, and gazed upon him with an air of surprise. He had not yet collected his scattered memories.
“Why are you here, sir?” he asked with knitted brow.
“Dear papa!” ejaculated Flora, with an appealing aspect, for she was grieved at the harshness of his tone of voice and the sternness of his manner. She remembered how much both were indebted to Vivian.
“Silence!” said her father, brusquely.
“Have you so soon forgotten the object of the visit of Mr. Riversdale and myself?” interrogated Vivian, gently.
Old Wilton placed his hands on his brow and reflected.
“True, I remember now,” he exclaimed, sarcastically. “You came hither to oust a rival”—he looked around the library—“and I presume you have succeeded to your satisfaction.”
“And to yours, I hope, sir,” responded Hal, calmly.