"Of course," put in Collins, in his smoothest tone, "nobody could foresee the presence of this American Diana."
Vernon shot him a quick glance.
"Be mighty careful what you say, my friend," he warned him, "or I'll chuck the whole thing."
"Oh, you can't do that!" protested Blake. "You've got to carry it through! You can't back out now!"
"Can't I?" said Vernon, with a grim little laugh. "Don't be too certain!
Suppose she finds it out? Pretty figure I'll cut, won't I?"
"But how can she find it out? In four or five days, you can tell her the whole story—you'll figure as a sort of hero of romance—"
"Yes—penny-dreadful romance—backstairs romance. The more I think of it, the less I like it. Diplomacy or no diplomacy, we're playing Markeld a dirty trick—that's the only expression that describes it. He's a nice fellow and we ought to treat him fairly."
Collins shrugged his shoulders as he turned away to the window and lighted a cigarette.
"You said something of the same sort yesterday, I believe," he remarked, negligently.
"Yes—and I meant it then" as I mean it now. Markeld has the right to expect decent treatment at our hands."