"Well, we put them through all right; pretty sharp too." Babba looked at his companion with a droll air. "Fact is," he continued, "some of us thought it as well to fix the thing while we were on the other side; complications might have arisen here, you know."
"Oh, I know what you mean. It's her own look-out; I daresay Mr. Hazlewood will make a very good husband."
"He won't make much difference except in business matters," observed Babba composedly. "We all know that well enough." Babba did not seem to deplore the state of affairs he indicated.
"Does he—the man himself?" Her curiosity was natural enough.
"Lord love you, yes, Lady Bowdon. It's not like the other affair, you see. That wasn't business; this is." He eyed Irene's face, which was rather troubled. "Best thing, after all," he added.
"I suppose so," said Irene, looking up with a faint smile.
"Oh, mind you, I'm sorry in a way. But if you won't pay the price, you don't acquire the article, that's all. I did it for Hazlewood, I'd have done it for Mead. But if you don't like being in large letters in the bills and the headlines, and being cross-examined yourself, and having her cross-examined, and having everybody—"
"In short, if you don't like going through the mud—"
"You've got to stay on the near side of the ditch. Precisely."
Irene sighed. Babba fixed his eye-glass and took a view of the room.