But, of
course, I would do it anonymously. And he thinks his friend is a man."
Babbacombe pondered with drawn brows.
"Cynthia," he said slowly, at length, "suppose I take this matter into
my own hands, suppose I make it possible for you to see this man once
more, will you be guided entirely by me? Will you promise me solemnly to
take no rash step of any description; in short, to do nothing without
consulting me? Will you promise me, Cynthia?"
He spoke very earnestly. The firelight showed her the resolution on his
face.
"Of course I will promise you, Jack," she said instantly. "I would trust
myself body and soul in your keeping. But what can you do?"
"I might do this," he said. "I might pose as his unknown friend--another
philanthropist, Cynthia." He smiled rather grimly. "I might get hold of
him when he comes out, give him something to do to keep his head above
water. If he has any manhood in him, he won't mind what he takes. And I
might--later, if I thought it practicable--I only say 'if,' Cynthia, for
after many years of prison life a man isn't always fit company for a
lady--I might arrange that you should see him in some absolutely casual
fashion. If you consent to this arrangement you must leave that entirely
to me."
"But you will hate to do it!" she exclaimed.
He rose. "I will do it for your sake," he said. "I shall not hate it if
it makes you see things--as they are.
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