“Not at all. Tell me more,” said George.
“I am worried about Launa. Her reputation will suffer.”
Sir Ralph rose and said:
“Good-bye—to-morrow at ten.”
He hated the mere idea of moral reflections.
“Has Launa a reputation yet?” asked George. “A woman must be talked about for three seasons, and have four married men in love with her. That is a reputation. It is eating your cake and having it too, and you are endeavouring to do that.”
“What do you mean?”
“You tell me what they say of Launa. They say far worse of you. They say Sir Ralph lives here—not that you stay in the same hotel—by accident, simultaneously—which happened to her. They say that Buxton and Sir Ralph are partners, and that Herbert is useful. It is like the women in the Bible, you remember? ‘We will eat our own bread and wear our own apparel, only let us be called by thy name.’ Herbert gives the name.”
“You had better go,” she said. “You are a coward to say all these things to a woman. You would not dare say them if I were a man, or if Jack were here.”
“No; but he seldom is here, and he is useful as a shelter. I would not have said this if you had not made me angry about Launa. She is one of the best women I ever knew.”