“It is a lie!” Vaughan cried, stung beyond endurance. He was pale with anger.
“Then refute it!” Sir Robert said, clasping the girl, who had involuntarily winced at the word, more closely to him. “Refute it, sir! Refute it!”
“It is absurd! It—it needs no refutation!” Vaughan cried.
“Why?” Sir Robert retorted. “I state it. I am prepared to prove it! I have three witnesses to the fact!”
“To the fact that I——”
“That you knew,” Sir Robert replied. “Knew this lady to be my daughter when you came here this morning—as well as I knew it myself.”
Vaughan returned his look in speechless indignation. Did the man really believe in a charge, which at first had seemed to be mere vulgar abuse. It was not possible! “Sir Robert,” he said, speaking slowly and with dignity, “I never did you harm by word or deed until a day or two ago. And then, God knows, perforce and reluctantly. How then can you lower yourself to—to such a charge as this?”
“Do you deny then,” the baronet replied with contemptuous force, “do you dare to deny—to my face, that you knew?”
Vaughan stared. “You will say presently,” he replied, “that I knew her to be your daughter when I made her acquaintance on the coach a week ago. At a time when you knew nothing yourself.”
“As to that I cannot say one way or the other,” Sir Robert rejoined. “I do not know how nor where you made her acquaintance. But I do know that an acquaintance so convenient, so coincident, could hardly be the work of chance!”