Lewis fixed his eyes on Leighton's face.

"Are you really going to marry Nat to that--to that old man?"

The Reverend Orme shifted in his chair.

"Lewis," he said, "I don't know that it's any of your business, but it
is probable that Natalie will marry Dom Francisco."

Lewis moved awkwardly from one foot to the other, but his eyes never
shifted.

"Does Mother--Mrs. Leighton know about this? Does mammy? Do they
_agree_?"

"Young man," answered Leighton, angrily, "they know that, as this world
goes, Natalie is a lucky girl. Dom Francisco is the wealthiest man in
the province. Look around you, sir. Whom would you have her marry if not
Dom Francisco? Some pauper, I suppose. Some foundling."

Lewis's cheeks burned red.

"You need not go so far as to marry her to a foundling," he answered,
"but you might be kinder to her than to marry her to--to that old man.
You might choke her to death."

The Reverend Orme leaped from his chair.

"Choke _her_ to death, you--you interloper!" He strode toward Lewis, his
trembling hands held before him.