He pulled up the leg of his pyjamas to exhibit the strapped knife. She glanced at it without moving her head, and murmured with scornful bitterness:
“Ah, yes—with that thing stuck in my side. In no other way.”
He shook his head with a shamefaced smile.
“Listen! I am quiet now. Straight—I am. I don't need to explain why—you know how it is. And I can see, now, this wasn't the way with you.”
She made no sound. Her still, upward gaze had a patient, mournfulness which troubled him like a suggestion of an inconceivable depth. He added thoughtfully:
“You are not going to make a noise about this silly try of mine?”
She moved her head the least bit.
“Jee-miny! You are a wonder—” he murmured earnestly, relieved more than she could have guessed.
Of course, if she had attempted to run out, he would have stuck the knife between her shoulders, to stop her screaming; but all the fat would have been in the fire, the business utterly spoiled, and the rage of the governor—especially when he learned the cause—boundless. A woman that does not make a noise after an attempt of that kind has tacitly condoned the offence. Ricardo had no small vanities. But clearly, if she would pass it over like this, then he could not be so utterly repugnant to her. He felt flattered. And she didn't seem afraid of him either. He already felt almost tender towards the girl—that plucky, fine girl who had not tried to run screaming from him.
“We shall be friends yet. I don't give you up. Don't think it. Friends as friends can be!” he whispered confidently. “Jee-miny! You aren't a tame one. Neither am I. You will find that out before long.”