“Well?” asked Staniford.
“Well, that's all! No, it isn't all, either. There's something else troubles me. Our poor little friend is a blackguard, I suppose?”
“Hicks?”
“Yes.”
“You have invited him to be the leader of your orchestra, haven't you?”
“Oh, don't, Staniford!” cried Dunham in his helplessness. “I should hate to see her dependent in any degree upon that little cad for society.” Cad was the last English word which Dunham had got himself used to. “That was why I hoped that you wouldn't altogether neglect her. She's here, and she's no choice but to remain. We can't leave her to herself without the danger of leaving her to Hicks. You see?”
“Well,” said Staniford gloomily, “I'm not sure that you couldn't leave her to a worse cad than Hicks.” Dunham looked up in question. “To me, for example.”
“Oh, hallo!” cried Dunham.
“I don't see how I'm to be of any use,” continued the other. “I'm not a squire of dames; I should merely make a mess of it.”
“You're mistaken, Staniford,—I'm sure you are,—in supposing that she dislikes you,” urged his friend.