But she did not yet seem satisfied.
“I wasn’t thinking of your real work,” she said quietly. “Only about this one little expedition. Supposing it wasn’t yourself—suppose it was somebody else, not trained and clever like you—suppose it was just an ordinary person—would you still say there was no risk?”
“Yes, I would,” said Dyke, after a slight hesitation. “None worth considering. No, any ordinary healthy person could do it as easily as falling off a house.”
“Do you say that on your honour, Tony?”
“Yes, on my honour.”
“Very well,” said Miss Verinder firmly. “Then I’ll go with you.”
Throughout the drive back to the hotel, he was explaining that he had spoken of ordinary men, not of women; that not for a moment could he consent; that it was quite splendid of her to entertain such a wild idea, but she must dismiss it at once and for ever.
“Oh, no, Tony,” she said, smiling in the darkness as she took his hand and got out of the carriage. “We’ll consider it quite settled, please. Of course I mean for the trip only. Directly you are ready to go to Australia I’ll say good-bye—and no more nonsense.” And she squeezed against him as they passed through the fragrance of the hotel garden. “I’m too proud of you to be selfish. I’d never, never try to come between you and your real work.”