“Read that,” he said; and added, authoritatively, “attentively.”
She took the letter apprehensively, but felt relieved when she found the handwriting was unknown to her.
A few glances made her mistress of the name of the writer, and then it flashed across her mind that her father’s eyes would be bent keenly upon her face, and he would read every expression that her emotions raised during the perusal might place there. She set her teeth and lips closely together, contracted her brow and read slowly on to the end without losing a word or betraying any other sign than a slight curl of the upper lip. When she had finished its perusal, she returned it to her father without a word.
He waited for a minute expecting her to speak, but she continued silent. A flush mounted to his forehead, and his brow loured.
“What answer have you to make, Miss Wilton?” he asked, rather impetuously.
“I would rather be excused answering your question, sir,” she returned, in a low tone.
“No doubt you would,” he responded, promptly; “but I require you to answer me.”
“The letter is not addressed to me,” she said, coldly.
“No!” he rejoined, sharply; “but it makes most important references to you; it aptly describes the situation in which we are all placed, and appears to me to be conceived in the very noblest spirit.”
Flora’s lip curled most expressively.