“No doubt,” agreed the man, who had more than once made it his business to snare an unsuspecting, trusting girl.
“And you will go to see her, and persuade her to drop him; won’t you, Percy? It is no use talking to his father; he does not see the matter in a serious enough light. He believes Alymer will soon tire of her. So he may, but in the meantime she may irredeemably injure his career. Of course, if it is a question of money we will find it all right; but whatever it is, try to cut the whole matter off entirely. Make love to her yourself, Percy, if that is what she wants—you know you have always been rather good at that sort of thing”; and she smiled at her own astonishing wordly wisdom, feeling almost rakish at having framed such a sentence.
“Ah!” with a deprecatory shake of his head, that did not, however, hide a certain fitful gleam in his eyes, “I am getting too old for those kinds of pranks now, but I will do my best to—er—” For a moment he wondered whether he meant to do his best to make love to the actress himself, or try to rescue Alymer, and finally finished: “follow out your wishes and suggestions.”
“I knew you would, Percy. It was a good idea of mine to ask you. Don’t mince matters at all, will you? Make her thoroughly understand she has got to give him up under any circumstances, or we shall, well—er—take proceedings if it is possible. Anyhow, Alymer must be guarded against himself, and his father is too unpractical to help, so we must do it alone.”
“I quite agree. Alymer is an exceptionally fine fellow, with an exceptionally promising future; and if he cannot see for himself how foolish a scandal would be just at the outset, we must, as you say, save him on our own account. I am fond of Alymer, very fond, and very proud, and I will do all in my power over the matter. What is the actress’s name, did you say?”
“I don’t think I mentioned it; but Edith told me in her letter. I will look for it.”
She went to a writing-table, and returned with the epistle in her hand, glancing through it until she came to the required information, when, without looking up, she read, “Lorraine Vivian.”
At the same time a sudden, curious, startled expression crossed the faded eyes of the white-haired gallant, and he turned quickly aside, stroking his moustache with a slightly nervous air.
“Eh? Do you mean the well-known celebrity?” he asked. “Surely not Miss Vivian of the Queen’s Theatre?”
“I suppose so. I never go to the theatre, so I never hear these names. Edith certainly writes as if she were well known. Does it makes any difference?” she asked, as he was silent. “Don’t you want to go? If you don’t I must find some one else; that is all.”