“By God!” he cried, “it shan’t be! You must be mad, Mary, to think of marrying a man like Hartley Parrish. A fellow who’s years older than you, who thinks of nothing but money, who stood out of the war and made a fortune while men of his own age were doing the fighting for him! It’s unthinkable ... it’s ... it’s damnable to think of a gross, ill-bred creature like Parrish ...”
“Robin!” the girl cried, “you seem to forget that we’re staying in his house. In spite of all you say he seems to be good enough for you to come and stay with ...”
“I only came because you were to be here. You know that perfectly well. I admit one oughtn’t to blackguard one’s host, but, Mary, you must see that this marriage is absolutely out of the question!”
The girl began to bridle up,
“Why?” she asked loftily.
“Because ... because Parrish is not the sort of man who will make you happy ...”
“And why not, may I ask? He’s very kind and very generous, and I believe he likes me ...”
Robin Greve made a gesture of despair.
“My dear girl,” he said, trying to control himself to speak quietly, “what do you know about this man? Nothing. But there are beastly stories circulating about his life ...”
Mary Trevert laughed cynically.