Lionel was not able to be properly indignant.
“I’ll admit,” he said, still very red, “that she’s—too fond of me. Too much faith in me.... But, Horace, old man, you mustn’t misunderstand her. She’s the best little woman on earth. Absolutely. An angel. Never complains. Never finds fault. There she is, all day long, shut up in that beastly little flat, while I’m hunting a job. No clothes, no amusements. Especially hard on her now.”
He was rather surprised at the look he saw on his brother’s face, a compassion so deep, so comprehending.
For Horace was quite certain that Lionel had been trapped, had been the dupe of a woman, whether loving or scheming, it mattered little. Perhaps she could be bought off—a divorce arranged, or something of that sort.
“Well, old chap!” he said, “What can I do for you? How can I help you?”
“That’s what I came to see you about. Fact is, Minnie’s longing to be in the country. Doctor says it would do her no end of good. I thought perhaps you’d finance a little house, lend me a bit, you know, or take a mortgage, or whatever it is they do.”
Horace agreed at once. Lionel proceeded to the next point.
“And I wish you’d come home with me and see Minnie,” he said, “I’d like you to talk it over with her. She has very practical ideas. Can you manage it?”
Horace looked at his watch and said he could. There was nothing he wanted more at that moment than to see Minnie. He believed that after even the briefest interview, he would know how she was to be got rid of, and Lionel saved. He had gained an impression of her as a dangerous and unscrupulous woman, who could do Lionel nothing but harm.
An impression never effaced, although she was quite a different sort of person from the adventuress he had pictured. He sat talking to her for an hour or more, asking friendly questions. Minnie herself fancied that her domesticity, her womanliness were pleasing him, that he was reflecting upon the good Lionel would derive from this match. Whereas! He was, after all, the same Horace who had chosen for his wife a flamboyant and radiant beauty, the Horace who had for years been more than tolerant of his wastrel brother’s follies and caprices. He was a man with a fanatic love for charm and distinction and beauty, there could have been no one to whom Minnie’s sober dowdiness would have made less appeal. His pity for Lionel increased every minute, and he felt for Minnie something as near hatred as his kindly nature allowed.