"I see. The invention was for my special benefit."

"Safety first," she murmured.

"I never really believed it--except when you took me by surprise," he
pursued. "That's why I--I went ahead."

"You certainly went ahead," she confirmed. "What are speed laws to you!"

"You're telling me that I haven't played the game according to the
rules. I know I haven't. One has to make his own rules when Fate is in
the game against him." He seemed to be reviewing something in his mind.
"Fate," he observed sententiously, "is a cheap thimble-rigger."

"Fate," she said, "is the ghost around the corner."

"A dark green, sixty-horse-power ghost, operated by a matinée hero, a
movie close-up, a tailor's model--"

"If you mean Reg, it's just as well for you he isn't here."

"Pooh!" retorted the vengeful and embittered Dyke. "I could wreck his
loveliness with one flop of my paint-brush."

"Doubtless," she agreed with a side glance at the wall, now bleeding
from every pore. "It's a fearful weapon. Spare my poor Reg."

"I suppose," said Dyke, desperate now, but not quite bankrupt of hope,
"you'd like me to believe that he's your long-lost brother."