'It says nothing definitely,' she went on, 'but--but I think it must be that; don't you? If so, what ought we to do?'
The 'we' struck him sharply, and he asked, 'Have you told Sir George?'
'Told him?' she echoed, flushing a little. 'No! I wish, now, I had, at first; he--he would have faced the possible danger by this time. But now? now it is impossible, Mr. Raymond! I have thought it out thoroughly. It would be better to take the risk, if that is necessary. But it need not be, if you will help me.'
He shook his head.
'Why should you not?' Her head was up, her beautiful face full of a faint scorn, her clear eyes were on his unflinchingly.
He met her look, as he always met a challenge, with almost brutal sincerity.
'Because I do not choose to--to stultify the last ten years; because I gave up all that sort of thing when--when I said good-bye to you--here.'
'And you would let that stand between you and--no! not between you--but between death and life perhaps for others; between order and disorder, anyhow. You think it important, I know----'
'Sir George does not,' he interrupted.
'What does that matter? You are as capable of judging as he; perhaps more so! Why should you be a coward? Why should you, who possibly--no! probably--know far more of the ins and outs of the city than the regular officials?--Oh, don't deny it! Have I not heard them say, "Ask Raymond" this or that, and "Raymond will know," and have I not been glad--so glad that everything has not been spoilt! Why should you, I say, give up your own opinion? For it comes to that. What you came here to tell Sir George to-day, for instance; you must have thought it important, or you would not have come.'