“But why? Surely there is no harm in a friend like myself calling on her beneath her own mother’s roof?”
Mrs. Yorke gave a questioning glance at him.
“I hardly know what to say to you, Mr. Hammond. You call yourself my daughter’s friend, but what do you really know about her?”
Hammond was silenced. He recalled the discovery that he had just made, that he did not even know the true name of the girl whom he had come to question, and he began to feel vaguely uncomfortable. He answered, rather lamely:
“I can only say that it is my greatest ambition that you and your daughter should include me among your friends.”
Mrs. Yorke shook her head with a resolution that had a certain sadness in it.
“How can you be our friend? What is there in common between you and us? It would have been better if you had not come here, Mr. Hammond.”
“Why do you say that?” he protested. “Why should you think it necessary to keep me at arm’s length like this?”
“Surely you must see that for yourself. You know well enough what the world thinks of such friendships between a gentleman in your position and a singer on the music-hall stage. What impression would it make on your mind, if you found my daughter receiving the visits of one of your society friends?”
Hammond was staggered by this unconscious reference to his own doubts. He could only reply: