Hammond bowed, and remained standing himself.
“I’ve come to see you about my sister. Miss Belle Yorke. She hasn’t any father, you know, so I’m her protector.”
“Yes, my boy, I’m sure you are,” said Hammond, very gently.
Mr. Yorke went on, with a certain feverish energy:
“It’s rather difficult for me to speak to you, because I don’t know exactly what you’ve done to Belle; but I know it’s your doing, whatever it is, because you used to be her sweetheart, and now she says she shall never see you any more. You’ve broken her heart, and she wouldn’t eat any breakfast this morning, and mother says she will give up the stage; and I believe she’s been crying, though she won’t own to it. And I don’t think you’re a gentleman, Mr. Hammond.”
Hammond’s head was drooping on his breast.
“God knows that!” he muttered.
“So I have come here to tell you that I consider you’ve no right to treat Belle like that, and I’m not going to stand it. And as soon as I’m old enough, I’m going to challenge you to a duel.”
“My child!”
The exclamation burst from the man unawares. Mr. Yorke turned very red.