I shook my head.
"What'd you bet?" she challenged me.
"It would be like robbing a child's money-box," I answered. "You're dealing with the laziest man in the northern hemisphere."
"How long will you be in England?"
"I've no idea."
"Six months? In six months I'll make you the Prince Rupert of the militant army. Then when we're sent to prison—Sir Arthur Roden's a friend of yours—you can arrange for our cells to be side by side, and we'll tap on the dividing wall."
I had an idea that our unsociable prison discipline insisted on segregating male and female offenders. It was not the moment, however, for captious criticism.
"If I stay six months," I said, "I'll undertake to divorce you from your militant army."
"The laziest man in the northern hemisphere?"
"I've never found anything worth doing before."