He spoke triumphantly. "Ah, there is one thing, then?"
"Yes, but it may not happen."
"Oh, lots of things may not happen. We just have to hope they will. That's all we've got to live by."
There was a lovely solemnity about her. "And even if it did happen, so many people would be opposed to it that I'm not sure it would do any good, after all."
"Oh, but we won't think of the people who'd be opposed to it—"
"We should have to, because"—the sweet fixity of her gaze gave him an odd thrill—"because you'd be one."
He laughed as he held out his hand to say good-by. "Don't be too sure. And in any case it won't matter about me."
She declined to take his hand on the ground that her own was soiled with loam, but she mystified him slightly when she said: "It will matter about you; and if the thing ever happens I want you to remember that I told you so. I can't play fair; but I'll play as fair as I can."