Paul threw back his head and laughed.
"And what about other people? What about her guardian, for instance—who is the sole trustee of the property—who has a thousand chances with her to my one—and holds, I venture to say—if he knows anything about me—the strongest views on the subject of my moral character?"
"Who is her guardian?"
"Mark Wilmington. Does that convey anything to you?"
Blaydes whistled.
"Great Scott!"
"Yes. Precisely 'Great Scott!'" said Lathrop, mocking. "I may add that everybody here has their own romance on the subject. They are convinced that Winnington will soon cure her of her preposterous notions, and restore her, tamed, to a normal existence."
Blaydes meditated,—his aspect showing a man checked.
"I saw Winnington playing in a county match last August," he said—with his eyes on the ground—"I declare no one looked at anybody else. I suppose he's forty; but the old stagers tell you that he's just as much of an Apollo now as he was in his most famous days—twenty years ago."
"Don't exaggerate. He is forty, and I'm thirty—which is one to me.
I only meant to suggest to you a reasonable view of the chances."