"Oh, don't say such things to me! I do believe you! I do! with all my heart, with all my soul!"
Ferociously sarcastic, Chesney completed to himself her unconscious quotation: "With all my mind, and with all my body." Why did she not gush it all over him? he demanded angrily to himself. What fools women were after all! One had only to lie cleverly to them and forthwith they fell flat in fits of hero-worship. Had he honoured her with the truth, she would have turned on him in contempt. So little did he know her.
"Then, Daphne, perhaps Chance is a kindly god after all. This chance collapse of mine has broken down barriers that I might never have climbed by myself."
He had been sipping water off and on while he talked. It was nauseously bitter to him, but with that fine instinct for thoroughness in his acting, he had instinctively denied himself the flat champagne, which would have been far more palatable to his tongue so rough with morphia. It occurred to him also that gain might be made of this small sacrifice. He could ask later for a fresh glass of wine without seeming unduly eager. And it was impossible for him to talk at any length without some liquid to moisten the dry mucous membranes of his mouth.
"You see," he went on, "one needs strong assistance in shaking off a thing like this. I've come to that, Daphne. Gaynor has been a devilish good sort through it all, but one ally isn't enough. A Triple Alliance"—he smiled at her—"is what is needed for this war."
Sophy felt dazed with gladness. Then shame seized her as she thought that she might have "deserted"—might have missed this wonderful moment, so far greater than mere happiness.
"Do you mean that you will let me help you, Cecil? That you will let me fight—it—with you?"
She was speechless. She hardly dared to breathe. She might wake up.
"And—and you will—follow out the—instructions?"