“That’s just it,” said Sir Eustace softly. “What about you? I’ve got you here⁠—I don’t want to rub it in in any way⁠—but I’ve got you here very neatly. The question is, what am I going to do with you? The simplest way of disposing of you⁠—and, I may add, the pleasantest to myself⁠—is the way of marriage. Wives can’t accuse their husbands, you know, and I’d rather like a pretty young wife to hold my hand and glance at me out of liquid eyes⁠—don’t flash them at me so! You quite frighten me. I see that the plan does not commend itself to you?”

“It does not.”

Sir Eustace sighed. “A pity! But I am no Adelphi villain. The usual trouble, I suppose. You love another, as the books say.”

“I love another.”