Some glimmering of the botanist's feelings strikes through to my slow sympathies. Of course—a strange man! I put out a restraining hand towards his arm. "I told you," I say, "that very probably, most probably, she would have met some other. I tried to prepare you."
"Nonsense," he whispers, without looking at me. "It isn't that. It's—that scoundrel——"
He has an impulse to rise. "That scoundrel," he repeats.