“Then, child,” said Chester Humphreys, turning to Ladybird, “I will ask you a few straightforward questions.”
“Do,” said Ladybird, looking at him with an air of such intense interest that the young man felt a little discomfited.
“First,” he said, “do you realize that a child of twelve—”
“Fourteen,” corrected Miss Priscilla.
“Very well—that a child of fourteen has no right to meddle with the love-affairs of a young lady of twenty-one?”
“I realize,” said Ladybird, putting on her wise-owl expression, and shaking her thin brown forefinger at Chester Humphreys—“I realize that a child of twelve—or fourteen—has a right to do anything to help a friend, unless it’s against the law and she’ll get arrested.”
“But you must know,” went on young Humphreys, warming to his task, “that if Miss Russell knew what you had done, she would not be your friend any longer.”
“Wouldn’t she!” exclaimed Ladybird. “Wouldn’t she! That’s all you know about Stella! She would be my friend though the heavens fall: because she understands friends, she does, and she would know that whatever I did, I did single to her glory! But never mind about me now: the thing is, Mr. Humphreys, will you marry Stella, and so save her from the awful jaws of Charley Hayes? Will you?”
Miss Priscilla Flint, almost choking with wrath and indignation, undertook to speak, but Chester Humphreys stopped her.
“Wait, Miss Flint,” he said; “please let me answer for myself.”