“Not suspicious, my dear Percy; say careful, perhaps cautious,” suggested the philanthropist, with an oily smile.
“All right; choose your own word! Go on.”
“The young lady’s career has been a singular one; she has been an actress.”
Percy whistled and stared.
“But she is a lady in every sense of the word,” continued Spenser Churchill, slowly and significantly. “She has left the stage, acting on my advice, and in consequence of the death of her only relative, and is living now with some dear friends of mine. With the exception of myself, she has no one to turn to for advice and assistance. I am her sole guardian, and—I may say—friend. She will, I am sure, be guided entirely by me, and that is why I am so anxious to provide for her future welfare.”
“By marrying her to a needy adventurer,” finished Percy Levant, with a smile.
“No; to one who, though deficient in the energy which achieves greatness by its own strength is, I am sure, a man of honor,” said Spencer Churchill, suavely.
Percy Levant stared at him with a curious smile.
“This is amusing and romantic with a vengeance,” he said. “And the young lady—of course she is as ugly as sin?”
Spenser Churchill was about to answer in the negative, and dilate upon Doris’ beauty, but he stopped himself and made a gesture of denial with his hands.