He had half-led, half-pushed the other to a chair near one of the pillars of the rotunda.
"I am going to tell her," said the wreck. "What are you doing with her?" he demanded fiercely.
"That is no business of yours," replied van Heerden sharply.
"No business of mine, eh! I'll show you it's some business of mine. I am going to tell her all I know about you. I have been a rotter and worse than a rotter." The old flippancy had gone and the harsh voice was vibrant with purpose. "My path has been littered with the wrecks of human lives," he said bitterly, "and they are mostly women. I broke the heart of the best woman in the world, and I am going to see that you don't break the heart of her daughter."
"Will you be quiet?" hissed van Heerden. "I will go and get her away and then I will come back to you."
Jackson did not reply. He sat huddled up in his chair, muttering to himself, and van Heerden walked quickly back to the girl.
"I am afraid I shall have to let you go back by yourself. He is having one of his fits. I think it is delirium tremens."
"Don't you think you had better send for——" she began. She was going to say "send for a doctor," and the absurdity of the request struck her.
"I think you had better go," he said hastily, with a glance at the man who was struggling to his feet. "I can't tell you how sorry I am that we've had this scene."
"Stop!"—it was Jackson's voice.