"We have always been so careful of Euty—striving to keep him—well, wholesome and pure, you understand, Major Blake."
"There are always dangers," I said, but only because she had stopped speaking, and not in any hope of instructing her.
"If only we can keep him from making a fool of himself—"
"It seems rather late," I said, this time with profound conviction. "See there!"
Upon the margin of that captured sheet Eustace had exposed, as it were, the very secret mechanics of his passion. There were written tentative rhymes, one under another, as "Kate—mate—Fate—late"—and eke an unblushing "sate." Also had he, in the frenzy of his poetic rapture, divined and indicated the technical affinities existing among words like "bliss," "kiss," and "miss."
Interference, however delicately managed, seemed hopeless after that, and I said as much. But I added: "Of course, if you let him alone, he may come back to his better self. Perhaps the young lady herself may prove to be your ally."
"Indeed not! She has set out deliberately to ensnare my poor Euty," said the mother, with an incisive drawing in of her expressively thin lips. "I knew it the very first evening I saw them together."
"Mightn't it have been sheer trifling on her part?" I suggested.
