"Lady, sir," cried the Doctor, "that a lady--you--you--you stand in your
mother's presence and call that--that woman a lady!---"

"In anybody's presence," shouted out Pen. "She is worthy of any place.
She is as pure as any woman. She is as good as she is beautiful. If any
man but you insulted her, I would tell him what I thought; but as you are
my oldest friend, I suppose you have the privilege to doubt of my
honour."

"No, no, Pen, dearest Pen," cried out Helen in an excess of joy. "I told,
I told you, Doctor, he was not--not what you thought:" and the tender
creature coming trembling forward flung herself on Pen's shoulder.

Pen felt himself a man, and a match for all the Doctors in Doctordom. He
was glad this explanation had come. "You saw how beautiful she was," he
said to his mother, with a soothing, protecting air, like Hamlet with
Gertrude in the play. "I tell you, dear mother, she is as good. When you
know her you will say so. She is of all, except you, the simplest, the
kindest, the most affectionate of women. Why should she not be on the
stage?--She maintains her father by her labour."

"Drunken old reprobate," growled the Doctor, but Pen did not hear or
heed.

"If you could see, as I have, how orderly her life is, how pure and pious
her whole conduct, you would--as I do--yes, as I do"--(with a savage look
at the Doctor)--"spurn the slanderer who dared to do her wrong. Her
father was an officer, and distinguished himself in Spain. He was a
friend of His Royal Highness the Duke of Kent, and is intimately known to
the Duke of Wellington, and some of the first officers of our army. He