"Then when do you think he will talk to Rit—to Miss Wallace?"
"I think I can ensure that he will do so before lunch to-morrow morning."
"You will be doing a kind and charitable thing, Toftrees," Ingworth answered, making a calculation which brought him to the doors of the Podley Institute at about four o'clock on the afternoon of the morrow.
Then he took his leave, congratulating himself that he had moved Toftrees to his purpose. It was an achievement! Rita would be frightened now, frightened from Gilbert for ever. The thing was already half done.
"Mine!" said Mr. Dickson Ingworth to himself as he got into a taxi-cab outside Lancaster Gate.
"I think I shall cook master Lothian's goose very well to-night," Herbert Toftrees thought to himself.
Mixed motives on both sides.
Half bad, perhaps, half good. Who shall weigh out the measures but God?
Ingworth was madly in love with Rita Wallace, who had become very fond of him. He was young, handsome, was about to offer her advantageous and honourable marriage.
Ingworth's passion was quite good and pure. Here he rose above himself. "All's fair"—treacheries grow small when they assist one's own desire and can be justified upon the score of morality as well.