“She must be fond of you,” observed the man, gazing at the ungrateful little wretch with wondering amusement. “Yes, oh, she’s fond of me! When I had the chicken-pox she took me to Brighton for a fortnight, all at her own expense, and stayed with me all the time, and wouldn’t go out anywhere, though she had lots of invitations. Belle’s very good in that way.” The man felt a strong inclination to shake Belle Yorke’s callous brother, as he thus grudgingly praised her. It was with an uneasy, self-reproachful feeling that he put the next question: “Your sister must make a good many friends by her singing?” Mr. Yorke nodded superciliously. “Yes; but she doesn’t care much for that lot; they’re not very respectable, we think. We don’t like her going on the stage at all; but she wanted to do something to earn her living. As soon as ever I’m a man, and get rich, I’m going to take her out of that and have her live with me.” Hammond looked up, pleased. “Why, the little chap’s a brick, after all!” he mentally ejaculated. “She’ll make a very good housekeeper,” concluded Mr. Yorke. Hammond started to his feet. “I can’t question this child,” he said to himself. And turning to the boy, he said, abruptly: “Will you ask your mother if I can see her?” Mr. Yorke instantly responded to the tone of authority and became respectful. “Yes, sir,” he answered, and promptly went out of the room. “By Heaven, I have a great mind to bolt!” exclaimed Hammond as the door closed. “I feel like a miserable spy.” Before he could act on his impulse the door opened again, and Belle Yorke’s mother came in. Hammond rose. He saw before him a woman who had once been eminently handsome. She was dressed in the deep mourning of a widow, and to this fact, perhaps, was due the impression of melancholy produced by her appearance. She looked at him with large, apprehensive eyes, as she murmured the conventional expressions which people exchange when they meet. But she did not offer him her hand. As soon as both were seated, Mrs. Yorke said: “I understand you have called to see my daughter?” “Yes. Perhaps she has mentioned my name to you some time?” “She has. She has often spoken of you. But she didn’t tell me that you were coming here.” Hammond bit his lip. “You mean, she told you that I was not coming--that she had discouraged me from visiting her?” “No, no; I didn’t mean that,” Mrs. Yorke stammered. “I am sure that there is no one whom my daughter would be more pleased to see here than you, if she received any visitors at all outside our friends in the neighborhood. But she has made it a fixed rule not to invite any of the acquaintances she makes on the stage to come here.” Hammond listened to this explanation with a feeling of relief. It was something to find that if he were excluded the exclusion was not personal to him.