"There's only one way, if any, to get the kind of light you want," said Jim. "It might be a difficult way, and it might be a long one."
"Yet you think light could be got? The kind of light I want?" I clasped my hands and deliberately tried to look irresistible.
"Who can tell? The one thing certain is, that trying would take all my time away from everything else, maybe for weeks, maybe for months."
His tone made my face feel the way faces look in those awful concave mirrors: about three feet in length and three inches in width.
"Then you won't undertake the task?" I quavered.
"I don't say that," grudged Jim.
"You wouldn't say it if you could meet Joyce Arnold," I coaxed. "She's such a darling girl. Poor child, she's out now, pulling strings for a job in India."
"Meeting her wouldn't make any difference to me," said Jim. "It's for you I'd try to bring off this stunt—if I tried at all."
"Oh, then do it for me," I broke out.
"That's what I was working up to," he replied. "I wouldn't say 'yes' and I wouldn't say 'no' till I knew what you'd do for me in return if I succeeded."