"But you know I do, in every way."
"I mean: trust me to know what is best . . ."
Analysis of this ambiguity knitted a speculative frown. "You're going to ask something of me I won't want to do."
"It is dangerous for us to attempt the journey back to New York together."
"Dangerous," Eve objected, "isn't definite enough."
"It would appear that one whom I have recently been obliged to humiliate plans to pay me out tonight. He will fail—trust me for that—but I shall be more free to make him see the error of his ways if I can feel sure the harm meant for me can't by mischance be visited upon you instead."
"Ah, no, my friend! you don't seriously think I will consent . . ."
"You would not hesitate if I could only make it clear how much better my chances would be."
"I'm afraid it's a hopeless task, but"—she made her smile provoking—"suppose you try."
"Conceive, then"—Lanyard spoke deliberately in an endeavour to put the business in a nutshell—"that after leaving you night before last I was thrown in with one who chose to declare war on me for his own ends—"