"My good sir," said Harding, with irritation, "I know of none, so far. If you have anything to say to me, I'll listen. If not, I'll pass on."
"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed the "Demon" with bitter mockery. "I come to serve ye, and ye would spurn me from yer path! Poor, poor humanity! Why, why should I laugh when I should rather weep?"
"I don't know, I'm sure," answered Harding simply, "and I don't want to be uncivil. But it certainly isn't asking too much to want to know what you mean."
"No," responded the "Demon," with melodious sadness—"not too much. Though every word be torture, yet I will e'en go through the ordeal. Sir, what I have to say—and it cuts me to the heart to say it—is that this lady—this young girl—this Aurora Tinsel—is worthy of neither of us."
"What!"
"She is unworthy—lost—and capable of the worst deception!"
"That's false!"
"How, sir?"
"That's false. And you or any one else who says it is a liar!"
The "Demon" drew suddenly back, clapped his hand to an imaginary sword hung at his left side—and then thought better of it.