The girl laughed and held out her hand.
“Yet you cannot deny that he gathered a wrong impression.”
“Ah, that was his fault, not mine. Hezekiah himself would tell you to possess the wisdom of the serpent as well as the harmlessness of the dove. But do not let me be too self-righteous. I will be honest with you, and admit at once that had a direct falsehood been necessary I would have used it. I was determined not to give him any name, for the pass I hold from Cromwell set Manchester as the limit, and we are now south of Manchester. I would have given the good Benton my name at York, but not at Grantham.”
“You think, then, that where great events are at stake,—a man’s life let us say, or a country’s welfare,—one is justified in using deception?”
“Most assuredly. I should have no hesitation in trying any ruse to save my friend or serve my country. Do you not agree with me?”
“I am trying to. Yes, I do agree with you. I do! I do! I do!” she cried with a sudden fervour that surprised him, for it seemed out of proportion to the importance of the ethical question they had been discussing. He had been holding her hand all this time, and she seemed to become newly aware of that fact and hastily withdrew it, blushing as she did so. She spoke rapidly, as if to cover her confusion:
“I use the words furnished me by our visitor. I give you good-night, and God be with you,”—and she was gone before his unreadiness could frame a response.