“You see,” she said sadly, “you do not even pretend to trust me. I don't know why you should. Why are you here? Why are you disguised with all that growth of hair? There is something you are preparing, planning. I know it. I feel it. What is it?”
“I told you once before,” he answered, “that the end of this will be Deede Dawson's death or mine. That's what I'm preparing.”
“He is very cunning, very clever,” she said. “Do you think he suspects you?”
“He suspects every one always,” answered Dunn. “I've been trying to get proof to act on. I haven't succeeded. Not yet. Nothing definite. If I can't, I shall act without. That's all.”
“If I told him even half of what you just said,” she said, looking at him. “What would happen?”
“You see, I trust you,” he answered bitterly.
She shook her head, but her eyes were soft and tender as she said:
“It wasn't trust in me made you say all that, it was because you didn't care what happened after.”
“No,” he said. “But when I see you, I forget everything. Do you love me?”
“Why, I've never even seen you yet,” she exclaimed with something like a smile. “I only know you as two eyes over a tangle of hair that I don't believe you ever either brush or comb. Do you know, sometimes I am curious.”