The very tone was hard and rasping, and her face had gone pale. All the light and animation had died out of her eyes as she raised them to his.
“That unspeakable young ass of a cousin of mine—Percy West.”
“But—why?”
“Hermia, think. How on earth can you ask such a question? The boy is like a younger brother to me, and on no consideration whatever will I stand by and allow his life to be utterly spoiled, wrecked and ruined at the very outset.”
“Why should his life be wrecked or ruined?” she said sullenly, but with averted gaze. “I could make him very happy.”
“For how long? And what then? No. Knowing what we know, it could not be. The thing is impossible—utterly impossible, I tell you. You must simply give up all idea or thought of it.”
“And if I refuse?”
“But you won’t refuse. Good Heavens! haven’t you got the whole world to pick and choose from, but you must needs come here and make a fool of this boy?”
“I didn’t come here and ‘make a fool of him.’ I was here already when he came. I told you I had a reason for stopping here. Well—that is it.”
“It was to tell me this that you arranged to meet me alone,” went on Blachland. “I conclude it wasn’t merely for the pleasure of having a talk over old times. Am I right?”