Fitz made no attempt to disclaim the implied influence.
“Yes,” he said; “I know.”
And he looked at the end of his cigar with a deep interest. The man who loves a proud woman loves her pride. He is also a happy man, because her pride will kill her vanity, and it is a woman’s vanity that spoils a husband’s love.
“It would be a great satisfaction to me,” the Count went on, “to pay off in some small degree the debt of gratitude which I never even acknowledged to Challoner. Eve”--he paused, and repeated the name with a certain sense of enjoyment--“Eve is not fully equipped with worldly wisdom. Thank God, for I hate a worldly-wise woman. She is hardly old enough or--plain enough to fight her own battles.”
Fitz gave a sudden, sharp sigh, which made the Count pause for a moment.
“You also have received kindness from Challoner,” went on the elder man, after a short silence.
Fitz nodded comprehensively.
“And, like myself,” the Count continued, rather quickly, “you are naturally interested in his daughter, and sorry for her in her great change of circumstances. Now, it has occurred to me that together we might do something towards helping her. You know her better than I do. I only know that she is proud.”
“Very much to her credit,” put in Fitz, looking fixedly at his own boots.
“Entirely so. And I respect her for it. Unfortunately, assistance could hardly come from you--a young man. Whereas, I might be her grandfather.”