Clara saw that he was right. To match herself against the scandal-monger would be to step down to her level. To reassure her, Verschoyle told her how he had been to Bloomsbury to settle matters.
'Where?' she asked.
He described the square and the house, and at once she had a foreboding of disaster.
'Did you see any one else?'
'A queer fish I met at the door, with eyes that looked clean through me, and that little squirt Clott. He is at the bottom of it all.'
Clara gave a little moan.
'O-oh! Why does everybody hate Charles so? Everybody betrays him....'
'Oh, come,' said Verschoyle, 'he isn't exactly thoughtful for other people, is he?'
'That doesn't matter. Charles is Charles, and he must and shall succeed.'
'Not if it smashes you.'