"It's a lie," Ingworth answered. "She's not in love with him. I know it! She's been led away to compromise herself, poor dear girl, that's all."
Now, Toftrees arose in his glory, so to speak.
"I'll put a stop to it," he said. The emperor of the sixpenny market was once more upon his virtuous throne.
His deep voice was rich with promise and power.
"I know Mr. Podley," he said. "I have met him a good many times lately. We are on the committee of the 'Pure Penny Literature Movement.' He is a thoroughly good and fatherly man. He's quite without culture, but his instincts are all fine. I will take him aside to-night and tell him of the danger—you are right, Ingworth, it is a real and subtle danger for that charming girl—that his young friend is in. Podley is her patron. She has no friends, no people, I understand. She is dependent for her livelihood upon her place at the Kensington Library. He will tell her, and I am sure in the kindest way, that she must not have anything more to do with our Christian poet, or she will lose her situation."
Ingworth thought for a moment. "Thanks awfully," he said, almost throwing off all disguise now. Then he hesitated—"But that might simply throw her into Lothian's arms," he said.
Toftrees shook his head. "I shall put it to Mr. Podley," he said, "and he, being receptive of other people's ideas and having few of his own, will repeat me, to point out the horrors of a divorce case, the utter ruin if Mrs. Lothian were to take action."
Ingworth rose from his seat.
"To-night?" he said. "You're to see this Podley to-night?"
"Yes."