Roberts: ‘What wouldn’t?’
Willis: ‘Nothing. I was just thinking—I say, you might—Or, no, you couldn’t.’
Roberts: ‘Couldn’t what?’
Willis: ‘Nothing. But if you were to—No; up a stump that way too.’
Roberts: ‘Which way? For mercy’s sake, my dear fellow, don’t seem to get a clew if you haven’t it. It’s more than I can bear.’ He rises, and desperately confronts Willis in his promenade. ‘If you see any hope at all—’
Willis, stopping: ‘Why, if you were a different sort of fellow, Roberts, the thing would be perfectly easy.’
Roberts: ‘Very well, then. What sort of fellow do you want me to be? I’ll be any sort of fellow you like.’
Willis: ‘Oh, but you couldn’t! With that face of yours, and that confounded conscience of yours behind it, you would give away the whitest lie that was ever told.’
Roberts: ‘Do you wish me to lie? Very well, then, I will lie. What is the lie?’
Willis: ‘Ah, now you’re talking like a man! I can soon think up a lie if you’re game for it. Suppose it wasn’t so very white—say a delicate blonde!’