He smiled.
"That will be my career—to defeat Landon. Is it a reputable one for a gentleman?"
She made a motion of protest.
"But—but that is self-sacrifice, one which we couldn't accept. Why should you do this for us?"
He shook his head again.
"No," he said. "I must repeat it, I work for myself. I seek my own interest, and that, in the first place, is to make you just. I see but the one way to do it. I have to convince you that I am in earnest, have I not?"
Again that baffling allusion. In earnest in what? In defeating Landon, in attempting the rescue of the child? Surely he had proved that already. And yet how could she counter a point which she could not help allowing she now understood; how could she do it without the loss of dignity implied in an explanation? But it was grotesque. He had known her a bare week. He had met her on four occasions.
She looked up, met his eyes, and dropped her own. A tiny sense of panic overtook her. He sat there, indomitable. Suppose—suppose he ultimately made his purpose good. She made herself look at him again. He had, at any rate, good looks to recommend him. And courage and the respect of his fellows. But—again a wave of exasperation flowed over her mind. Oh, it was outrageous, unthinkable. An Aylmer—another Aylmer. Unconsciously her lips curved in a half sarcastic smile. Why, the very newspapers of the world would pile headline upon headline over such a fiasco. She stiffened with resentment, with a sense of being played with. Her voice was chill with a note of dignity outraged.
"I think the fact of your proposing to devote time and strength to the pursuit of—of your cousin is a very convincing one, Captain Aylmer," she answered. "The point is that we have no right to accept so much from you."
He smiled joyously.