"Good night, my boy," Cope answered.
The girl went with John Quincy to the balcony. "I—don't know what to make of it," she said.
"Things are coming rather fast," John Quincy admitted. He remembered the Corsican cigarette. "I wouldn't trust him too far," he admonished.
"But he's so wonderful—"
"Oh, he's all right, probably. But looks are often deceptive. I'll go along now and let you talk with him."
She laid one slim tanned hand on his white-clad arm "Do be careful!"
"Oh, I'm all right," he told her.
"But some one shot at you."
"Yes, and a very poor aim he had, too. Don't worry about me." She was very close, her eyes glowing in the dark. "You said you weren't afraid for yourself," he added. "Did you mean—"
"I meant—I was afraid—for you."