"If I know anything about women, the Countess Tarnowsy wants love more than anything else in the world, my friend. She was made to be loved and she knows it. And she hasn't had any of it, except from men who didn't happen to know how to combine love and respect. I'll give you my candid opinion, Mr. John Bellamy Smart. She's in a receptive mood. Strike while the iron is hot. You'll win or my name isn't--" "Fred Poopendyke, you haven't a grain of sense," I broke in sharply. "Do you suppose, just to oblige you, I'll get myself mixed up in this wretched squabble? Why, she's not really clear of the fellow yet. She's got a good many months to wait before the matter of the child and the final decree--" "Isn't she worth waiting a year for--or ten years? Besides, the whole squabble will come to an end the minute old man Titus puts up the back million. And the minute the Countess goes to him and says she's _willing_ for him to pay it, you take my word for it, he'll settle like a flash. It rests with her." "I don't quite get your meaning." "She isn't going to let a stingy little million stand between her and happiness." "Confound you, do you mean to say she'd ask her father to pay over that million in order to be free to marry--" I did not condescend to finish the sentence. "Why not?" he demanded after a moment. "He owes it, doesn't he?" I gasped. "But you wouldn't have him pay over a million to that damned brute of a Count!" He grinned. "You've changed your song, my friend. A few weeks ago you were saying he ought to pay it, that it would serve him right, and--" "Did I say that?" "You did. You even said it to the Countess." "But not with the view to making it possible for her to hurry off and marry again. Please understand that, Fred." "He ought to pay what he owes. He gave a million to get one husband for her. He ought to give a million to be rid of him, so that she could marry the next one without putting him to any expense whatsoever. It's only fair to her, I say. And now I'll tell you something else: the Countess, who has stood out stubbornly against the payment of this money, is now halfway inclined to advise the old gentleman to settle with Tarnowsy." "She is?" I cried in astonishment. "How do you know?" "I told her I thought it was the cheapest and quickest way out of it, and she said: 'I wonder!'" "Have you been discussing her most sacred affairs with her, you blithering--" "No, sir," said he, with dignity. "She has been discussing them with _me_." I have no recollection of what I said as I stalked out of the room. He called out after me, somewhat pleadingly, I thought: "Ask Britton what he has to say about it."