Fortune was too deeply absorbed by her misery to note how near George had come to committing himself. "Thank you, Mr. Jones; thank you. I am going to the tent. I am tired. And I am not so brave as you think I am."
"But will you?"
"I shall tell you when we reach port." And with that she fled to the tent.
Ryanne folded his arms and stared at the sand. George sat down and aimlessly hunted for the stub of the cigar he had dropped; a kind of reflex action.
The two men were all alone. The camel-boys were asleep. Mahomed had now ceased to bother about a guard.
"I can't see where she gets this ridiculous sense of honesty," said Ryanne gloomily.
George leaned over and laid his hand upon Ryanne's knee. "She gets it the same way I do, Ryanne—from here," touching his heart; "and she is right."
"I believe I've missed everything worth while, Percival. Till I met you I always had a sneaking idea that money made a man evil. The boot seems to be upon the other foot."
"Ryanne, you spoke about becoming honest, once you get out of this. Did you mean it?"
"I did, and still do."