“It is agreed. There are legal fictions, and why not social ones?”
“I don't understand you, sir; and, in truth, it is all a puzzle to me. You don't seem angry with me?”
“Why, of course not, my poor fellow; I pity you.”
“Yet you discourage me, Mr. Bazalgette.”
“But not from any selfish motive. I want to spare you the mortification that is in store for you. Remember, I have seen the end of about a dozen of you.”
“Good Heavens! And what is the end of us?”
“The cold shoulder without a day's warning, and another fool set in your place, and the house door slammed in your face, etc., etc. Oh, with her there is but one step from flirtation to detestation. Not one of her flames is her friend at this moment.”
David hung his head, and his heart turned sick; there was a silence of some seconds, during which Bazalgette eyed him keenly. “Sir,” said David, at last, “your words go through me like a knife.”
“Never mind. It is a friendly surgeon's knife, not an assassin's.”
“Yet you say it is only out of regard for me you warn me so against her.”