“Think of mine,” said he.
“I can’t see that your pride is involved.”
“To put it plainly, I’m the late Sir William Silver’s illegitimate son.”
“Well? What of that?”
“Do you fancy I should enjoy being taken up and patronised by his legitimate heir?”
“Oh!” she cried, starting to her feet. “You can’t think I would be capable of anything so base as that.”
And he saw that her eyes had suddenly filled with tears.
“I beg your pardon, I beg your pardon a thousand times,” he said. “You would be utterly incapable of anything that was not generous and noble. But you must remember that I had never seen you. How could I know?”
“Well, now that you have seen me,” she responded, her eyes all smiles again, “now that I have put my pride in my pocket, and bearded you in your den, I don’t mind confiding in you that it’s nearly lunchtime, and also that I’m ravenously hungry. Could you ring your bell, and order up something in the nature of meat and drink? And while you are about it, you might tell your landlady or some one to pack your bag. We take,” she mentioned, examining a tiny watch, that seemed nothing more than a frivolous incrustation of little diamonds and rubies, “we take the three-sixteen for Silver Towers.”