Brian looked at him for a moment. "Upon my word, Percival," he said, warmly, "I can't imagine why she did not prefer you to me. You're quite the most large-hearted man I ever knew."
"Oh, come, that's too strong," said Heron, carelessly. "You're a cut above me, you know, in every way. You will suit her admirably. As for me, I'm a rough, coarse sort of a fellow—a newspaper correspondent, a useful literary hack—that's all. I never quite understood until—until lately—what my position was in the eyes of the world."
"Why, I thought you considered your profession a very high one," said Brian.
"So I do. Only I'm at the bottom of the tree, and I want to be at the top."
There was a pause. A little doubt was visible upon Brian's face: Percival saw it and understood.
"There's one thing you needn't do," he said, with a sort of haughty abruptness. "Don't offer me help of any kind. I won't stand it. I don't want charity. If I could be glad that I was not going to marry Elizabeth, it would be because she is a rich woman. I wonder, by-the-bye, what Dino Vasari is going to do."
They had not heard of Dino's death when Percival left England.
"If I were you," Percival went on, "I should not stand on ceremony. I should get a special licence in London and marry her at once. You'll have a bother about settlements and provisions and compromises without end, if you don't."
Brian smiled, and even coloured a little at the proposition. "I could not ask her to do it," he said.
"Then I'll ask her," said Percival with his inimitable sang-froid. "In the very nick of time, here she comes. Mademoiselle, I was talking about you."