Muniment had the air of a man feeling he must consider a little before assenting to these successive propositions; it being a limitation of his intellect that he couldn’t respond without understanding. After a moment he answered, referring to his hostess’s last remark, in which the others appeared to culminate, and at the same time shaking his head with a rise of his strong eyebrows: “His scrape isn’t important.”
“You thought it was when you got him into it.”
“I thought it would give him pleasure.”
“That’s not a reason for letting people do what isn’t good for them.”
“I wasn’t thinking so much about what would be good for him as about what would be bad for some others. He can do as he likes.”
“That’s easy to say. They must be persuaded not to call him.”
“Persuade them then, dear madam.”
“How can I persuade them?” she cried. “If I could do that I wouldn’t have approached you. I’ve no influence, and even if I had it my motives would be suspected. You’re the one to come in.”
“Shall I tell them he funks it?” Muniment asked.
“He doesn’t—he doesn’t!” she declared.