“Yes,” I yawned; “why do you ask?”
“Because if she was anything to me I would either whip Paning or carry her away from here.”
“Why? What do you mean?” I asked, rising up on one elbow.
“Well, well,” he said, tossing the match out of the window, “it’s none of my business, perhaps; so let it be.”
“No, but you must tell me, Harrow; what have you seen or heard? The young lady and I at one time were great friends, and I still esteem her very highly, though she has not liked me much since that scoundrel Paning has taken possession of her heart. But I will do everything I can to serve her now. What do you know about them?” I rose up and sat by him on the edge of the bed.
“Paning does not respect her much, does he?” he asked, blowing smoke rings in the sunlight.
“No, that’s just it. She believes him to be the purest and best under Heaven, and trusts him blindly, while he, a villain, is trifling with her, and keeps her love only because he is proud of it. If he respected her he would not obtrude his polluted presence on her. But tell me, Harrow, what you know about her,” I continued; “if you wish, I will keep secret all you confide.”
“The deuce, no,” he said quickly; “I do not care for Paning. I would tell him about it myself, only I have no right to interfere.”
“Speak on, Harrow; what is it?”
“Well, for one thing, the very fact that she receives attention from such fellows as Paning and Donnery has lowered her in the estimation of your acquaintances; and then, even during the short time she has been here, those low fellows have originated enough scandal about her to damn a dozen women at the social bar.”