Anthony Dyke refused her offer, and stood firm to his refusal for two days. Then on the morning of the third day he accepted. He was of course enraptured. He echoed Mr. Dyke’s words in saying that her acquisition of comparative wealth was like a fairy tale.
“All this time I never knew I had a fairy godmother—I who have groused about my bad luck. At the fateful moment you suddenly show the shining crown on your dear head, you wave your magic wand, you give me the enchanted key. Oh, Emmie, what can I say? What can I ever do?”
“You can come back safe and sound,” said Emmie. “And you can give me your sacred word that you’ll never leave me again.”
Kissing her with frenzied warmth, he made his vow. But this first ecstasy being over, he began at once to treat her with a new and strange deference. He said that she had become the patron and chieftain of the glorious project.
“Oh, yes, it’s your show entirely. You trust me, you honour me with your instructions.”
Before that evening everything was settled between them. She made a proviso that he should arrange for a relief expedition to follow after him at a certain date. This must be an integral part of the plan. And the whole thing must be organised in its smallest details before he himself started southward. She was very firm as to all this.
He agreed, saying she was quite right and he knew the very man to put in command of the relief ship—“Twining, who was my navigating officer in 1910.”
He bowed deferentially to her decision with regard to other matters; saying, “Oh, your word would be law. You would be the real head, and I shouldn’t forget it.” Then he smiled. “You pay the piper, Emmie, and you call the tune.”
She said that there must be no departure from plans.
“No, no. But you’d give me a free hand when I get down there?”