"Why?" I said. I thought I was entitled to ask why.
"Because," she said, "it'll only mean a lot more bother for me."
I believe I meditated on this before I asked her, "Why should it?"
"Because it isn't easy to get away and earn your own living in this country. And they'll try, poor dears, to stop me. And they can't."
"If they don't," I said, "are you sure it won't mean a lot of bother for them?"
"Not," she said gravely, "if they're left alone and not worried. It will, of course, if you go and write and stir them all up again."
"I see. For the moment, then, they are placated?"
"Rather." (I wondered on what grounds.) "We settled that last night."
"Then—" I said, "forgive my asking so many questions—your people know you had this appointment with me?"
Her eyebrows took a little tortured twist in her pity for my stupidity.