"Then I tell you," he said, and Barbara jumped impulsively to her feet and shook hands with him.
"And I may come to you," he pleaded, "for advice, and help? Old habits are hard to shake. My friends are thieves, crooks, and grafters. My sources of income are not clean. Even now I have dishonest irons in the fire. Shall I pull them out?"
"Of course."
"But people who have trusted me will be hurt."
"You must work those problems out in your own conscience."
To Blizzard, believing that he was actually making progress into the fastnesses of her heart, and that he might in time gain his ends by propinquity and his own undeniable force and personality, a sudden, cheeky knocking upon the door proved intensely irritating. It was a very small messenger-boy with a box of jonquils. Blizzard watched very closely the expression of Barbara's face while she opened the box. She held up the flowers for him to see.
"Aren't they pretty?" she said.
"They are very pretty," said Blizzard, and he found it difficult to control his voice. "And it was very sweet of him to send them. Isn't that the rest of the speech?"
"Of course," said Barbara gayly.
She lifted the flowers until the lower half of her face was hidden.