“The only fault I have to find with you Westerners is that you’re rather apt to overrate yourselves. I suppose they let young Crestwick in a good deal deeper?”
“That,” laughed Lisle, “is what you have been leading up to from the beginning.”
“I’ll admit it. As I’ve hinted, one of the differences between an American and an Englishman is that the former usually expresses more or less forcibly what he thinks, unless, of course, he’s a financier or a politician; while you have often to learn by experience what the latter means. Better use your own methods in telling me what took place.”
Lisle did so, omitting any reference to Bella, and Nasmyth looked disturbed and disgusted.
“Crestwick’s as devoid of sense as he is of manners; he deserves to lose. What I can’t get over is that fellow Batley’s staying in what was once George Gladwyne’s house, with Clarence standing sponsor for him.”
Lisle fancied he could understand. Nasmyth had his failings, but he had also his simple, drastic code, and it was repugnant to him that a man of his own caste, one of a family he had long known and respected, should countenance an outsider of Batley’s kind and assist him in fleecing a silly vicious lad.
“You have no reason to think well of Gladwyne,” Lisle reminded him.
“I haven’t,” Nasmyth owned. “Still, though the man has made one very bad break, I hardly expected him to exceed every limit. At present it looks as if he might do so; he’ll probably be forced to.”
“I don’t quite understand.”
“Then I’ll have to explain. It’s unpleasant, but here the thing is, as I see it—Batley’s not the kind of man Clarence would willingly associate with, and to give Clarence his dues, all his instinct must make him recoil from the fellow’s game with Crestwick. Considering that he’s apparently making no protest against it, this is proof to me that Batley has some pretty firm hold on him.”