“I knew the girl when she was a kid: she is from my old home, and I want Lily to ask her here to sing for us, and then to see if we can’t do something to get her out of the state she is in.”
Galorey repeated vaguely, “State?”
“Why, she’s all run down, tired out; she’s got no real friends in London.”
The other man flicked the ash from his cigarette and looked at Blair’s boy through his monocle.
“And you thought that Lily might befriend her, old chap?”
“Yes,” nodded Dan, “just give her a lift, you know.”
Galorey nodded back, smiling gently. “I see, I see—a moral, spiritual lift? I see—I see.” He glanced at the woman with his strange smile.
She put her cigarette down and seated herself, clasping her hands around her knees and looked at her fiancé.
“It’s none of my business what Letty Lane’s reputation is. I don’t care, but you must understand one thing, Dan, I’m not a reformer, or a charitable institution, and if she comes here it is purely professional.”
He took the subject as settled, and asked for a copy of the program and put it in his pocket. “I’ll get the names of her songs from her and take the thing myself to Harrison’s. And I’d better hustle, I guess; there’s no time to lose between now and Sunday.” And he went out triumphant.