“I’ve noticed Cantyre very particularly; and just as he wouldn’t make her the right kind of husband she wouldn’t make him the right kind of wife.”
When Annette said anything in which there was a special motive a series of concentric shadows fled over her face like ripples from the spot where a stone is thrown into a pool.
“Well, I’m glad you don’t like her, if it isn’t a rude thing to say.”
“What has my liking her or not liking her got to do with it?”
“Nothing but the question of your own safety. If she notices how much you’re like Jack—”
“If she was going to notice that,” I said, boldly, “she would have done it already.”
“And so much the worse for you if she has—unless you’re put on your guard.”
“If you mean put on my guard against the danger of being Cantyre’s successor in a similar experience—”
“That was my idea.”
“Well, I can give you all the reassurance you need, Annette. In the first place, I’ve got no money—”