"Nothing I could say or do?"
He shook his head.
"Very well, then," she said with hurt mouth that quivered, "what is the name of your boat?"
He considered a moment. "Don't you think it would be very indiscreet of me to tell you?"
"It will be the discreetest thing you ever did in your life."
"Why do you want to know?"
"I want to know because"—again she bent to him—"because there's a black-list." He saw her eyes bright with terror. "You must give me time to find out...."
"I see," he interrupted. "You would like me to owe my life to Greta von Schwarzenberg."
"To me, Gavan,"—the pallor of her face yielded to a sudden flush,—"if you could bear that."
"I haven't decided on my boat," he said.