"Don't mind what people say, Mr. Lane.… I feel we—all the family—owe you such an enormous debt. No one knows what was the matter with Babs, but my aunt was really afraid we might lose her. Of course, she'd led rather a wild and wearing life since she was a child; suddenly she collapsed. I do feel that you've saved her life, you know; she's the old, vital, irresistible Babs once more—except that you've taught her to take care of herself."
"The position is a little awkward. If people talk, if Lord Crawleigh——"
"I think he quite likes you," Amy interrupted.
Eric bowed and pretended for a moment to listen to the music. It was common knowledge that Barbara's fortune was forfeit on the day when she married any one but a Catholic; if he had ever contemplated marrying her, the fees from the "Divorce" and "The Bomb-Shell" would not keep them for six months. He wondered whether Amy Loring's embassage had been inspired.
"I always feel that Lord Crawleigh condemned the world and then allowed it to continue existing on day-to-day reprieves," he said.
"That's rather my uncle's manner. He hasn't insulted you yet? He will."
"He's only seen me once by daylight. I fancy he thinks I'm one of the footmen. If I came to him in any other capacity … The industrious ink-slinger, you know——"
Amy tossed her head impatiently.
"I don't know whether you're a genius or not, because I'm not clever about books and things. But you've made an enormous name for yourself, you've a big career before you; and, so long as a man's a gentleman—by which I don't mean what most people do,—I wouldn't let anything stand in the way—except religion, of course. And I'm afraid that doesn't count very much with Babs." She lapsed into silence, as though she had already said too much. "And I know I'm right," she added at length.
"I daresay you are.… You see, I've never regarded Barbara as anything but a wonderful friend. We casually dropped into an extraordinary intimacy——"