Lush’s tone had gradually become more and more unctuous in its friendliness of remonstrance, and he was almost in danger of forgetting that he was merely gambling in argument. When he left off, Grandcourt took his cigar out of his mouth, and looking steadily at the moist end while he adjusted the leaf with his delicate finger-tips, said,
“I knew before that you had an objection to my marrying Miss Harleth.” Here he made a little pause before he continued. “But I never considered that a reason against it.”
“I never supposed you did,” answered Lush, not unctuously but dryly. “It was not that I urged as a reason. I should have thought it might have been a reason against it, after all your experience, that you would be acting like the hero of a ballad, and making yourself absurd—and all for
