calmest
voice, "before you go any further, listen to me. I do not choose that
my daughter, pure and unsullied, should give herself to a roue and a
libertine."

The Don took a step toward her and said: "Mrs. Fairbanks, someone has
misled you. What you say is false, absolutely and utterly false." Betty
glanced proudly up into his face.

"False!" cried Mrs. Fairbanks. "Then, Mr. Balfour, you force me to ask,
did you not live for some months with a woman on Jarvis Street? Were
you not a constant visitor at houses of ill repute for months in this
city?"

Poor Don! I can see him yet. His face grew livid, his eyes staring, as
he stood there without a word.

"Don," cried Betty, "tell her it is false!" and she lifted her little
head proudly. "Tell her it is false, and I don't care who says it is
true." Still The Don stood speechless.

"Alas! my poor child," said Mrs. Fairbanks, "he could not say so. I
have the proof in my hand." And she pulled a letter out of her pocket.
"It is true, and much more--too true. Mr. Lloyd here knows this to be
true. Is it not so, Mr. Lloyd? If this is not true, speak." The poor
old Don turned his eyes imploringly toward Lloyd, like a man hanging on
his last hope, but Lloyd, the beast! mumbled and stuttered something or
other. Betty ran to him, caught him by the arm and shook him. "Speak
out!" she said. "Say it is all a lie!" The Lloyd said in a thick kind
of voice, "I cannot say so."

Betty turned back to The Don, and may God keep me from ever seeing a
face like hers again. "Say it isn't true!" she said, putting her hand
on his arm; and as he stood still, white and speechless, she gave a
kind of cry of fear, and horror, and I don't know what else. "Oh, Don,
can this be true--and--you kissed me!"

Then The Don pulled himself together, turned to Mrs. Fairbanks, and
began to speak, the words pouring out in a perfect torrent. "Mrs.
Fairbanks, you must listen to me. What you say was true of me eight
years ago. I came here a mere boy. I fell in with a bad lot--I had
plenty of money, and I confess I went bad. That was eight years ago.
Then I met your daughters, and came into your home. From that time I
have never done a dishonourable thing, my life has been clean. Ever
since I touched your daughter's hand my hands have never touched
anything unclean. The first day I saw her, eight years ago, I loved
her, and since then I have been true in heart and in life to her. For
my shameful past God knows