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“They’re afraid of you. They’re afraid of annoying you and making you worse. So they go to work very cautiously, and, somewher or other, they get their information. They know a great deal about you. They know you’ve been with those ladies to the dome of Saint Paul’s and — wher was the other place? — to the Thames Tunnel.”
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“Well, I don’t care to be a witness of your reckless passion,” said Percy Beaumont.
His friend turned on him a cold eye and for a moment said nothing, presently, however, speaking a little stiffly. “My passion doesn’t make such a show as you might suppose, considering what a demonstrative beggar I am.”
“I don’t want to know anything about it — anything whatever,” said Beaumont. “Your mother asks me every time she sees me whether I believe you’re really lost — and Lady Pimlico does the same. I prefer to be able to answer that I’m in complete ignorance, that I never go there. I stay away for consistency’s sake. As I said the other day, they must look after you themselves.”
“Well, you’re wonderfully considerate,” the young man returned. “They never question me.”
