"Ah, you say that because you want to put me in good heart. We'll talk no more about it, nor about myself either."
"Oh, but I do want to talk about you. I've something to say and I don't know how to say it without hurting you," said Lavinia, hesitatingly.
"You don't mean you're going to bid me good-bye?" he burst out. "I won't say that. You're the only one I've ever met who's encouraged me out of pure good nature. When I've had money to spend on them, friends have sought me out fawning and flattering. After they'd emptied my purse they vanished."
"Yes, yes, and that's why I want to talk to you. Aren't you easily led to take too much wine?"
"Perhaps—perhaps, but no more than other men."
"I hope so, at least not more than the men I saw you with last night."
"You saw me! Where?"
"In a coffee house near St. Paul's. The man who left you a few minutes ago was making you drink and the others were helping him. Your glass was never empty save when you yourself had emptied it. I don't like that white-faced squinting man. His voice is horrid. His vulgar talk—oh, it made me put my fingers to my ears and run out of the house. He doesn't mean you well."
"I—I like him no more than you," stammered Vane. "But he wants me to write for him. It would put money in my pocket. How could I refuse to drink with him?"
"Why not? He would not employ you if he did not think it was to his own good. And have you promised?"