They looked at each other. Sir John thought: "I'll get it out of him."
And Mr. Waddington thought: "I'll get it out of him."
"You might as well tell me what you're talking about," he said.
"My dear chap, it's what Mrs. Levitt's talking about. That's the point."
"Mrs. Levitt!"
"Yes. She's a dangerous woman, Waddington. I told you you were doing a risky thing taking up with her like that…. And there's Hawtrey doing the same thing, the very same thing…. But he's a middle-aged man, so I suppose he thinks he's safe. … But if he was ten years younger— Hang it all, Waddington, if I was a younger man I shouldn't feel safe. I shouldn't, really. I can't think what there is about her. There's something."
"Yes," said Mr. Waddington, "there's something."
Something. He wasn't going to let Corbett think him so middle-aged that he was impervious to its charm.
"What is it?" said Sir John. "She isn't handsome, yet she gets all the young fellows running after her. There was Markham, and Thurston, and there's young Hawtrey. It's only sober old chaps like me who don't get landed…. Upon my word, Waddington, I shouldn't blame you if you had lost your head."
Mr. Waddington felt shaken in his determination not to let Corbett get it out of him. It was also clear that, if he did admit to having for one wild moment lost his head, Corbett would think none the worse of him. He would then be classed with Markham and young Billy, whereas if he denied it, he would only rank himself with old fossils like Corbett. And he couldn't bear it. There was such a thing as doing yourself an unnecessary injustice.
Sir John watched him hovering round the trap he had laid for him.