“It pleases the Colonel to think that he possesses anything as well authenticated as a thankless child. The serpent’s tooth tickles the Colonel’s vanity. Resignation becomes the Colonel like a pale lavender necktie.”
“He may work his way out. Marriage might help him.”
“That’s not so easy. A bad marriage would send him clear to the bottom. You’ve got to find a particular sort of girl for his case.”
“I agree with you. The girls that are here to-night—the pretty daughters of best families—that kind would be no good for him; and besides, they’re not going to try it. Their papas and mamas wouldn’t let them if they wanted to.”
Wingfield was delighted to hear these expressions from Walsh. It was as though the sphinx, breaking the silence of centuries, had suddenly bent down and addressed a chance traveller on the topics of the day. Walsh spoke, moreover, with the quiet conviction of one who had thought deeply on the subject under discussion.
“You are quite right. I agree with you fully!” declared Wingfield, anxious to hear further from Walsh. “It would take a plucky girl to tackle Wayne.”
“Brains, common sense, patience! A good, sensible working-girl would be my choice.”
Walsh stroked his bald pate with his hand, and drew deeply upon his cigar. Wingfield was pondering Walsh’s words carefully, fully appreciating the flattery of the old fellow’s unwonted loquacity.
“How are we going to find her?”
“We are not going to find her. Wayne’s a lucky devil—such fellows are usually lucky—and his future must take care of itself.”