“That is true, sir.”

“And on closer terms of intimacy.”

“No doubt, sir.”

“Then listen to me.  She is all very charming outside, and full of sensibility outside, but she has no more real feeling than a fish.  She will go a certain length with you, or with any agreeable young man, but she can always stop where it suits her.  No lady in England values position and luxury more than she does, or is less likely to sacrifice them to love, a passion she is incapable of.  Here, then, is a game at which you run all the risk.  No! leave her to puppies like Kenealy; they are her natural prey.  You must not play such a heart as yours against a marble taw.  It is not an even stake.”

David groaned audibly.  His first thought was, “Eve says the same of her.”  His second, “All the world is against her, poor thing.”

“Is she to bear the blame of my folly?”

“Why not?  She is the cause of your folly.  It began with her setting her cap at you.”

“No, sir, you do her wrong.  She is modesty itself.”

“Ta! ta! ta! you are a sailor, green as sea-weed.”

“Mr. Bazalgette, as I am a gentleman, she never has encouraged me to love her as I do.”

“Your statement, sir, is one which becomes a gentleman—­under the circumstances.  But I happen to have watched her.  It is a thing I have taken the trouble to do for some time past.  It was my interest in you that made me curious, and apprehensive—­on your account.”

“Then, if you have watched her, you must have seen her avoid me.”

“Pooh! pooh! that was drawing the bait; these old stagers can all do that.”

“Old stagers!” and David looked as if blasphemy had been uttered.  Bazalgette wore a grin of infinite irony.

“Don’t be shocked,” said he; “of course, I mean old in flirtation; no lady is old in years.”

“She is not, at all events.”

“It is agreed.  There are legal fictions, and why not social ones?”

“I don’t understand you, sir; and, in truth, it is all a puzzle to me.  You don’t seem angry with me?”

“Why, of course not, my poor fellow; I pity you.”

“Yet you discourage me, Mr. Bazalgette.”

“But not from any selfish motive.  I want to spare you the mortification that is in store for you.  Remember, I have seen the end of about a dozen of you.”

“Good Heavens!  And what is the end of us?”

“The cold shoulder without a day’s warning, and another fool set in your place, and the house door slammed in your face, etc., etc.  Oh, with her there is but one step from flirtation to detestation.  Not one of her flames is her friend at this moment.”

David hung his head, and his heart turned sick; there was a silence of some seconds, during which Bazalgette eyed him keenly.  “Sir,” said David, at last, “your words go through me like a knife.”

“Never mind.  It is a friendly surgeon’s knife, not an assassin’s.”