Sir Harold dropped his cigar, and looked at Mr. Hamilton in surprise.
“What is wrong, my friend?” he demanded. “If there are pecuniary troubles, it will not be difficult to obtain money upon the valuables I have about me.”
John Hamilton made a deprecatory movement, and sat down opposite his guest.
“It is not that, Sir Harold,” he said. “I wish you to leave my humble home for the sake of my dear child. She is young, impressionable, imaginative. She has never been used to the society of young men. She knows nothing of the world. This poetry reading has influenced her young mind, and the most gallant of the old-world knights pale into insignificance when compared with you in her estimation. In short, Sir Harold, she is in love with you, as romantic girls will be with handsome young men.”
Sir Harold was surprised. “I had never dreamed of this,” he said. “Poor Theresa!”
“Do not pity her; I cannot bear it, but go—go!”
“Why should I leave her to unhappiness?” Sir Harold mused. “I love her as a very dear sister. I have never cared for woman in any other way, and Theresa has first claim upon me. Mr. Hamilton,” he added aloud, “why should I throw away the priceless gift of Theresa’s love?”
“You are mad!” was the rejoinder. “You know not what you say. This thing cannot be!”
“And why not?”
“Your memory will return, and your heart go back to its old love.”