They looked full at Babbacombe with unflickering
steadiness, that was all.
Babbacombe listened in the silence of a great amazement. Vaguely he had
groped after the truth, but he had never even dimly imagined this. It
struck him dumb--this sudden glimpse of a man's heart which till that
moment had been so strenuously hidden from him.
"My dear fellow," he said at last; "but this is insanity!"
"Perhaps," West returned, unmoved. "They say every man has his mania.
This is mine, and it is a very harmless one. It won't hurt you to humour
it."
"But--good heavens!--have you thought of her?" Babbacombe exclaimed.
"I am thinking of her only," West answered quietly. "And I am asking you
to do the same, both now and after you have married her."
"And send you to perdition to secure her peace of mind? A thousand
times--no!" Babbacombe turned, and began to pace the room as though his
feelings were too much for him. But very soon he stopped in front of
West, and spoke with grave resolution. "Look here," he said, "I think
you know that her happiness is more to me than anything else in the
world, except my honour. To you it seems to be even more than that. And
now listen, for as man to man I tell you the truth. You hold her
happiness in the hollow of your hand!"
West's face remained as a mask; his eyes never varied.
"You can change all that," he said.
Babbacombe shook his head.
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