Who canters back along Mayfair,
Spreading foul odours on the air,
While all draw back to cry ‘Beware!
The Scavenger of Society!’
But, for Heaven’s sake, my dear Sutherland, don’t take this affair too seriously. It is very offensive, but no worse than they write of everybody, from the Queen downwards; and I dare say it will do the lady in question no real harm.’
Sutherland was pacing up and down the room, a prey to the most violent agitation. He wheeled round suddenly, and faced his companion.
‘Even while we speak, perhaps the poisoned arrows have shot home. I can see the poor child—for she is still a child—sickening under the shameless attack. I picture to myself a broken heart, a ruined home, and then——’
‘But suppose the insinuations are false?’
‘They may be false in essence, while having a certain foundation in fact. Remember the lines you yourself quoted to me when Lagardère was our theme on a former occasion—I mean the lines about “A lie which is half a truth.” Oh, it is horrible! horrible! I would rather live among the foulest of savages than among your literary Yahoos, your so-called human beings.’