"I had hoped you would understand without my putting it into so many words. Lorimer has been my friend for years, and it seems rather beastly to begin talking him over; but—"
"But?" Miss Gannion's tone was as hard and ringing as steel.
"But he sometimes takes a little more wine than is altogether wise," Thayer replied, with brief directness.
Miss Gannion dropped back in her chair.
"Does—does he get—drunk?" she questioned sharply.
"No. That is too strong a word. He is imprudent, foolish. Still, one never knows what may come."
"Poor Beatrix!" Miss Gannion said softly.
Thayer faced her again.
"Understand me, Miss Gannion; I am not doing this for love of gossip. Miss Dane is nothing to me, and I like Lorimer immensely. But there is a good deal at stake, and I am not sure how much I ought to leave to chance. Lorimer is one of the most lovable fellows in the world, generous and loyal; but he is weak. He was born so; I fancy it is in the blood. If Miss Dane is strong enough and has tact, perhaps she can hold him steady. He can't be driven an inch; but he can be led a long way."
Miss Gannion brushed her hair away from her face with an odd, bewildered gesture.