"I am not a socialist because I do not care one fig about others," she objected. "It is only myself I think of."
"If you do not sympathize with laws, you at least recognize morals?"
She laughed gayly, leaning back against the dark green upholstery and showing her flawless teeth; her long, narrow eyes with their seductive gleam flashed into his. A lighter spirit possessed her.
"Not other people's," she declared. "I have my own code and I live by it. As for you,—"
She paused. Her sudden fit of gayety seemed to pass.
"As for me?" he murmured.
"I am a little conscience-stricken," she said slowly. "I think I ought to have left you where you were. I am not at all sure that you would not have been happier. You are a very nice boy, Mr. Arnold Chetwode, much too good for that stuffy little office in Tooley Street, but I do not know whether it is really for your good if one is inclined to try and help you to escape. If you saw another man holding a position you wanted yourself, would you throw him out, if you could, by sheer force, or would you think of your laws and your morals?"
"It depends a little upon how much I wanted it," he confessed.
"Ah! I see, then, that there are hopes of you," she admitted. "You should read the reign of Queen Elizabeth if you would know what Englishmen should be like. You know, I had an English mother, and she was descended from Francis Drake.... Ah, we are arrived!"