“Does it never occur to you that you are likely to get Pamela talked about?” she asked him.
“What is there to cause talk?” he inquired, feeling oddly irritated at her persistent opposition.
“Well, your devotion isn’t exactly normal.”
“Normal?” he said.
“Usual, if you prefer it,” she conceded. “It’s practically the same thing. Disinterested service is a virtue ordinary human intelligence cannot grasp.”
“That is, perhaps, less the fault of human intelligence,” he returned, “than the misuse of service.”
“No doubt,” she allowed. “Nevertheless, we suffer vicariously through that same misuse. But it’s no good talking. You have made up your mind. If it wasn’t for how you feel about her the thing wouldn’t be so outrageous; but under the circumstances...”
She broke off and looked at him with perplexed, baffled eyes. Dare realised dimly what a puzzle and a disappointment he had become to her. She had at one time, he was aware, regarded herself as an influence in his life. He almost smiled at the thought Influences are only powerful so long as one is satisfied to submit to them; with the first sign of breaking away, control ends.
“I’ll bring her to the station and see you off, anyway,” she finished.
“That will,” he assured her, smiling openly now, “add an air of immense respectability to the adventure.”