"There's more than that, isn't there?" asked Mrs. Dennison.
Evan admitted that there was more, and, in obedience to some skilful guidance, he revealed what there was more—what beyond mere offended dignity—between himself and Mr. Ruston. He had to complain of no lack of interest on the part of his listener. Mrs. Dennison questioned him closely as to his grounds for anticipating Ruston's rivalry. The idea was evidently quite new to her; and Evan was glad to detect her reluctance to accept it—she must think as he did about Willie Ruston. The tangible evidence appeared on examination reassuringly small, and Evan, by a strange conversion, found himself driven to defend his apprehensions by insisting on just that power of attraction in his foe which he had begun by denying altogether. But that, Mrs. Dennison objected, only showed, even if it existed, that Marjory might like Ruston, not that Ruston would return her liking. On the whole Mrs. Dennison comforted him, and, dismissing Ruston from the discussion, said with a smile,
"So you're thinking of settling down already, are you?"
"I say, Mrs. Dennison, you've always been awfully good to me; I wonder if you'd help me in this?"
"How could I help you?"
"Oh, lots of ways. Well, for instance, old Lady Valentine doesn't ask me there often. You see, I haven't got any money."
"Poor boy! Of course you haven't. Nice young men never have any money."
"So I don't get many chances of seeing her."
"And I might arrange meetings for you? That's how I could help? Now, why should I help?"
Evan was encouraged by this last question, put in his friend's doubtfully-serious doubtfully-playful manner.