‘Where did you get that, miss?’ ‘It is the sword of monsieur le major. “Suppose I chuck it,” she remarked, standing with the mauve slip in her hand —“suppose I chuck it, and surrender and go home! Perhaps, after all, Roddy was right! “Father keeps opening the door and shutting it, but a time will come— “I could still go home!” She held Ramage’s check as if to tear it across. Her natural instincts reasserted themselves. Why should she trouble herself over that young fool, who was nothing to her; who, when he eventually sobered up, would not be able to recognize her, or if he did, as something phantasmagorical? Perhaps he should not apply the term "fool"; "unfortunate" might be the more accurate application. I've just left your nephew. He had a quick, shrewd, merry eye, and a look in which duplicity was agreeably veiled by good humour.
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