"Don't be too sure, my child. You won't be laughing at me soon. I may be a bit of a waster, but I'm not the sort to marry a girl without knowing how I'm going to support her. How do you know you won't be the guest of the Governor-General as soon as he knows I'm in Sydney—"
"Whatever do you mean? Oh, Louis, don't tell me stories! And I don't want to go and see people like Governor-Generals. I want to be alone with you."
"You probably will, my dear girl. But you must remember that a secret service man has to cover up his traces in every way. He has to hide everything, even from his wife."
"Louis," she said in real distress, clutching his arm, "are you really in the secret service? I'll—I'll forget it all, if you're telling me lies. I'll never think of it again. But it so awful to think you are lying to me!"
"Why should I lie, my darling?" he said, looking hurt, but staring at her mouth instead of looking into her eyes.
"You—you told me—never—to believe you, Louis. Oh, you do make it hard for me. I don't know what to believe. If you're in the secret service don't they pay you any money?"
"Of course—they pay me enough to keep myself going. But it's a patriotic work, you know. And as for not believing me, I told you not to believe me about drinking. That was all."
"But Louis, if you have money, why are you so worried about it now? And—didn't you tell me your father sent you out here?"
"Yes, he did, dearie," he said earnestly. "It's quite true. I was a rotter and he got fed up with me. But I've done a lot of secret service work and didn't dare even tell him. I'm under an oath of secrecy. The times I've had to let him think I was out all night, simply too squiffy to get home when in reality I was working—for England—"
"And you really, truly mean it, Louis? Louis, it would break my heart right in two if I thought you were lying now."