“You could offer her the protection of your name,” suggested the other, carelessly.
“What? You mean—marry her?”
“Well, nobody else would be inclined to, Cleves, if it ever becomes known she has lived here quite alone with you.”
Cleves stared at the elder man.
“This is nonsense,” he said in a harsh voice. “That young girl doesn’t want to marry anybody. Neither do I. She doesn’t wish to have her throat cut, that’s all. And I’m determined she shan’t.”
“There are stealthier assassins, Cleves,—the slayers of reputations. It goes badly with their victim. It does indeed.”
“Well, hang it, what do you think I ought to do?”
“I think you ought to marry her if you’re going to keep her here.”
“Suppose she doesn’t mind the unconventionality of it?”
“All women mind. No woman, at heart, is unconventional, Cleves.”