“But why?” and the dull eyes of the spinster were full of wonder. “Why?”
“Your nephew,” said the big man, “is a friend of mine. And a fellow never likes to see a friend venturing into a thing which might not be right.”
Miss Hohenlo shook one pretty finger at him girlishly.
“Oh, you bachelors,” she said; “you have such a dread of marriage.”
“Nature always helps its own,” said Bat. “If it can’t provide you with a courage to meet a thing, it supplies a fear which makes you duck and in that way save yourself. But,” he frowned at a rug on the floor before him, and stroked his chin, “it wasn’t of marriage I was thinking.”
“No?”
“No,” said Bat, “it was the girl.”
His eyes were still on the rug, but for all that he caught the sudden tenseness of her attitude.
“Grace!” she said, and there was a sharpness in her voice which was new to him. “What do you mean?”
The big man studied the rug under his bent brows. He felt that the situation, now that he had brought it to this point, was a delicate one, and knew that he must be careful. Indeed, it was so exceedingly delicate and required so much care that under other circumstances he would not have ventured to tackle it. But he wanted to help Campe; his curiosity was aroused, and he felt convinced that there was something hostile between the two women. And so he launched himself upon waters which might prove a mill pond or a whirlpool.