I bowed. There was nothing further to be said, and we sat silently for a few minutes.
"But are you sure," she began again, "that that would be the best way? Is it best to run to your enemy, crying for quarter?"
"Not if you can put up a good fight!"
She drew her fingers caressingly over the outlines of the old marble.
"I think you could put up the right kind of a fight," she remarked quietly. "Suppose that you saw your way clear to go in—to fight—what would you do?"
"The first thing," I said, smiling, "would be to hit Strauss between the eyes."
"I think you could put up the right kind of a fight," she remarked quietly.
"Just how?"