“That would depend on many things—for instance, whether I believed him to be actuated by the same motives as myself.”
“I do not see what difference his motives could make. It is impossible for me to look upon attentions from one in your position as likely to lead to any good result.”
“But why not?” Hammond pleaded, earnestly. “It is true that, as you say, I know but little of Miss Yorke. But that little has been enough to make me wish to know more. Is there any reason why I should not? I will be plain with you, on condition that you will be plain with me. Is there any reason why you should not allow me to visit your house on the footing of one who means to ask you for your daughter’s hand?”
Mrs. Yorke recoiled. Instead of showing common surprise at the question, or that gratification which the ordinary mother feels when such words are addressed to her by a man far her child’s superior in wealth and station, an anxious, frightened look came into her eyes.
“No, you must not think of that!” she exclaimed, hastily; and then added, in a calmer tone: “Such a marriage would be impossible. The difference between her and you is too great.”
“It has been crossed before now,” returned Hammond. “If you have no better reason for your refusal than that, I shall stay.” And he settled himself firmly in his chair.
Mrs. Yorke wrung her hands.
“Why do you compel me like this? I have another reason—don’t ask me what it is!—for telling you that this cannot be.”
Hammond started, and gazed at her with a new apprehension, not less than her own. He could scarcely muster up courage to put his next question.
“I must ask you. You have gone too far, and I have gone too far, to draw back now.”