"Then it is time you did," rejoined his visitor, with decision. "It is a great mistake for a man to put off marrying too long; marriage is an honourable estate. It is not good for man to live alone."
"Well, I find the estate extremely comfortable. There was peace in Eden till Eve appeared, and I, too, can quote scripture, 'Physician, heal thyself.'"
"Yes, I thought you knew," and Mr. Eliot's face grew grave; "I've had my romance—she died."
Gascoigne did not reply.
"I've had my romance—she jilted me," he merely said.
"I did not know."
"Pardon me, I'm sorry for you; but marriage would change the whole current of my life."
"And make it deeper and broader and more unselfish," suggested his visitor.
"I never realised that I was selfish—I expect I am! I like my own way, my own pursuits, my own friends. I would be selfish, indeed, if I brought a gay young life to share my fossilised routine. Eliot," he continued, still more forcibly, "speaking as man to man, surely there is some way of escape from this situation? Help me, for my mind is not fruitful in devices. I am thinking of Angel, not of myself. Is she to be compelled to marry a man she has always looked on as a sort of uncle, simply because a wicked woman has started an infernal scandal? What is your opinion?"
"You have already had it," now rising. "I have told you what I came here to say. Scandal is hard to stifle, even when it has not a tittle of foundation—evil minds continue to repeat. 'There is no smoke without a fire.' I believe there is no fire, nothing but the cold, wet sticks of early companionship. I say, that I know you to be a good fellow, Gascoigne; Miss Angel is a beautiful, high-spirited, warm-hearted girl. Accept what fate sends you—marry her if you can, and be thankful."