“You must not desert her, sir! It would be a terrible thing to have on your conscience. You have ruined and betrayed her.”
“WHAT!” cried the other, and gazed at him in amazement. “Did she give you that kind of a jolly?”
“She didn't go into particulars”—said the boy.
“My dear fellow!” laughed Bertie. “Why, I've been the making of that girl. She was an eighteen-dollar-a-week chorus girl when I took her up.”
“That might be, Master Albert. But if she was an honest girl—”
“Nonsense, Samuel—forget it. She'd had three or four lovers before she ever laid eyes on me.”
There was a pause, while the boy strove to get these facts into his mind. “Even so,” he said, “you can't desert her and let her starve, Master Albert.”
“Oh, stuff!” said the other. “What put that into your head? I'll give her all the money she needs, if that's what's troubling her. Did she say that?”
“N—no,” admitted Samuel disconcerted. “But, Master Albert, she loves you.”
“Yes, I know,” said Bertie, “and that's where the trouble comes in. She wants to keep me in a glass case, and I've got tired of it.”