“I don’t care a snap for that—go on!”
This was so wholly unexpected that it at once obstructed the narrative; Hawkins was not even sure that he had heard aright. He said:
“I don’t know that I quite understand. Do you mean to say that if he was all right and proper otherwise you’d be indifferent about the earl part of the business?”
“Absolutely.”
“You’d be entirely satisfied with him and wouldn’t care for his not being an earl’s son,—that being an earl’s son wouldn’t add any value to him?”
“Not the least value that I would care for. Why, Mr. Hawkins, I’ve gotten over all that day-dreaming about earldoms and aristocracies and all such nonsense and am become just a plain ordinary nobody and content with it; and it is to him I owe my cure. And as to anything being able to add a value to him, nothing can do that. He is the whole world to me, just as he is; he comprehends all the values there are—then how can you add one?”
“She’s pretty far gone.” He said that to himself. He continued, still to himself, “I must change my plan again; I can’t seem to strike one that will stand the requirements of this most variegated emergency five minutes on a stretch. Without making this fellow a criminal, I believe I will invent a name and a character for him calculated to disenchant her. If it fails to do it, then I’ll know that the next rightest thing to do will be to help her to her fate, poor thing, not hinder her.” Then he said aloud:
“Well, Gwendolen—”
“I want to be called Sally.”
“I’m glad of it; I like it better, myself. Well, then, I’ll tell you about this man Snodgrass.”