"I'm not being deceived."
"I hope not, I'm sure. But—oh, do forgive me!—it's Lord Severance she loves."
"Then the sooner she unloves him the better it will be all around."
"I know you think I'm a meddler. But remember we're friends. Remember Mothereen told me to be your friend, Jack. Those two Sorel women think Severance the perfect beau ideal of a man. They look upon you—oh, I can't say it!"
"You needn't," Garth drily assured her; "I'm a cad; a bounder; a lout."
"The beasts! I hate them both!" Zélie gasped. "They're not worthy to black your boots."
"I mostly wear brown ones," said Garth.
"You're right to snub me. I won't say any more. You must go your own way, and I hope—I hope with all my heart" (Zélie choked a little) "you'll never regret it. But just this one thing let me beg you to do. Whatever they're up to, don't give them the chance to despise you. I mean, in little things. They can't in big! I saw the way they looked at—at your clothes Sunday afternoon, Jack. I could have thrown something at them!—not the clothes, but the Sorels—and Severance, the conceited Greek snob! But the clothes weren't right, boy. They didn't do you justice. They had a sort of 'Sunday-go-to-meeting' look: kind of smug! And your gloves and shoes just the wrong yellow! For heaven's sake don't lose a minute in going to a good tailor if you don't want your life to be a hell!"
Garth laughed out, a hard, spasmodic laugh; and at that instant Marise came in.