"I can't be bothered with social codes at a time like this," she said. "I have to do all I can to get that money back. Think of the hundreds of people hurt by that bank robbery—if the bank is forced to close its doors! Including your own mother and grandmother! No, I just have to go."
"Let me go instead," he suggested.
"You wouldn't know just where the camp is. It's pretty well hidden, and I know the only spot where a landing is possible. Besides, you can't fly a plane."
"You mean you will pilot the plane yourself? Your autogiro's broken."
"Oh, it'll be another plane—a hired one. Now please don't argue any more, Mr. Carter—you sound like my aunt—and let me go to bed. And will you ask one of the servants to waken me at seven o'clock?"
"Good night, then, Miss Carlton," he said, almost sorrowfully, for it seemed like the end of what might have been a wonderful friendship for Jackson Carter.