He shook his head, and threw open the door of a great dimly-lit apartment on the ground floor.
“Come in here a moment, will you, Blanche,” he said. “I want to speak to you.”
She assented, smiling. He was her only brother, and she his favourite sister. He closed the door.
“I want to ask you a question,” he said. “A serious question.”
She stopped buttoning her glove, and looked at him.
“Well?”
“You and all the rest of them are always lamenting that I do not marry. Supposing I made up my mind to marry some one of good enough family, but who was in a somewhat doubtful position, concerning whose antecedents, in fact there was a certain amount of scandal. Would you stand by me—and her?”
“My dear Nigel!” she exclaimed. “Are you serious?”
“You know very well that I should never joke on such a subject. Mind, I am anticipating events. Nothing is settled upon. It may be, it probably will all come to, nothing. But I want to know whether in such an event you would stand by me?”
She held out her hand.