Lesbon rose and poured himself out a glass of whisky.
"My dear, what a thing it is to have a reputation!" He gestured picturesquely. "But I suppose we can't all be paragons of virtue… But still, that's quite a lot for you to ask me to do. Interfering with horses is a serious offence — a very serious offence. You can be warned off for it. You can be branded, metaphorically. Your whole career" — Mr. Lesbon repeated his gesture — "can be ruined!"
The girl bit her lip.
"Did you know that?" demanded Lesbon.
"I–I suppose I must have realised it. But when you're only thinking about someone you love —"
"Yes, I understand." Lesbon drained his glass. "You would do anything to save your brother. Isn't that what you said?"
He sat on the arm of the chair again, searching her face. There was no misreading the significance of his gaze.
The girl avoided his eyes.
"How much do you think you could do, my dear?"
"No!" Suddenly she looked at him again, her lovely face pale and tragic. "You couldn't want that — you couldn't be so —"