"I trust so. At least, I am with some people."

"You're giving every instance of it with me, though it may be a part of
the game; even the rescue may be a part of the game. You may be playing
me against Mrs. Spencer, and taking advantage of my inexperience to
accomplish your purposes--"

"You don't think so!" he said, with a shake of his head.

"No, I don't. And maybe that only proves my inexperience and unfitness."

For a moment he did not reply. Was _she_ playing _him_? Was it a ruse of
a clever woman; or was it the evidence of sincerity and innocence? It
had the ring of candour and the appearance of truth. No one could look
into those alluring eyes and that fascinatingly beautiful face and
harbour a doubt of her absolute guilelessness. Yet was it guilelessness?
He had never met guilelessness in the diplomatic game, save as a mask
for treachery and deceit. And yet this seemed the real thing. He wanted
to believe it. In fact, he did believe it; it was simply the habit of
his experience warning him to beware--and because it was a woman it
warned him all the more.... Yet he cast experience aside--and also the
fact that she was a woman--and accepted her story as truth. Maybe he
would regret it; maybe she was playing him; maybe she was laughing
behind her mask; maybe he was all kinds of a fool--nevertheless, he
would trust her. It was--

"I'm glad you have decided that I'm not a diplomat--and that you will
trust me," she broke in. "I'm just an ordinary woman, Mr. Harleston, just
a very ordinary woman."