"You feel like it?" suggested Wandesforde, with a broad grin.
"Yes, I do feel like it. And it'll probably happen. I may be wrong but I never am," retorted Denis.
"Oh, quite. Well, I shouldn't dream of offering advice, because I know you never take it, but I wish to point out that in the hypothetical circumstances I should make for the Dutch frontier myself. You'll never get through the lines."
"I don't propose to get through the lines. If instead of scintillatin' with wit you'd ever by any chance allow me to finish what I'm saying, I should have told you before that I want to go to Rochehaut because I know the place, and because my cousin Lettice is there—if she's still alive."
"Oh ah. Yes. I remember."
Wandesforde had heard as much as that. He did not dare offer sympathy, because Denis's glacial eye was upon him, forbidding it. Denis went on with his most intransigent air: "And I may add that if I get the ghost of a chance to go I'm goin', and if I get into a row for it afterwards I do not care. I want you to know this now because, if things fall out as I expect, I shall be very much obliged if you'll see my pal Gardiner next time you're home on leave, and tell him."
"The chap that's in prison?"
"Yes. Sorry to put you to so much inconvenience, but I can't write it, because his letters are read."
"Quite. What do you want me to say?"