“I can feel but little sympathy for men who required a woman’s name to stimulate them to action,” I said at length. “On your part it was a brave deed to do, though a foolish one. Yet had I been in your place, doubtless I, too, should have considered that the end justified the means.”
“Ah,” she cried, turning swiftly to face me, “say those words again! Do you think that, Mr. Cassilis? Do you indeed believe that?”
“What, madam?” I answered, smiling.
“That—that the end justifies the means?” she said almost fiercely. “Surely that is true, is it not?”
“Providing always that the means employed be honourable, madam,” I replied.
“And if not?” she cried quickly. “What if—if I—had given my word—had pledged myself to a certain course—then——”
“I think that the thing is too monstrous for supposition,” I replied firmly. “That aught dishonourable and you could have anything in common is beyond conception.”
Again she turned away to the window, and stood looking over the park. In the silence that followed it was not without a certain guilty surprise that I heard the church clock strike ten. Suddenly I remembered my promise to the sergeant.
“I regret that I must take leave of you, madam,” I said hastily. “I was unaware that the hour had grown so late.”
“You must leave me so soon, Mr. Cassilis?” she said, with a reproachful glance. “I was hoping that you would tell me somewhat of your life abroad.”