"You forget that I am not a boy any longer, mother," said Dan, smiling. "I think I can defend myself, even if Mr. Davis is a wicked and designing person."
Nevertheless Mrs. Mordaunt saw Dan depart with anxiety. To her he was still a boy, though in the eyes of others an athletic young man.
On inquiring for Mr. Davis at the hotel, Dan was ushered into a room on the third floor. Seated in an arm-chair was an elderly man, weak and wasted, apparently in the last stages of consumption. He eyed Dan eagerly.
"You are Daniel Mordaunt?" he asked.
"Yes, sir."
"Son of Lawrence Mordaunt?"
"Yes. Did you know my father?"
The old man sighed.
"It would have been well if he had not known me, for I did him a great wrong."
"You!—John Davis!" said Dan, trying to connect the name with his father.