inquisitor might say, 'Have you had enough?' No answer. I went on:
'To make it easier, you _do_ like her still.' I had roused my victim
at last.

'What the devil do you mean, Carruthers? That I'm to trade on my
liking for her--on her innocence, to--good God! what _do_ you mean?'

'No, no, not that. I'm not such a cad, or such a fool, or so ignorant
of you. If she knows nothing of her father's character and likes
you--and you like her--and you are what you are--oh Heavens! man,
face it, realize it! But what I mean is this: is she, _can_ she be,
what you think? Imagine his position if we're right about him; the
vilest creature on God's earth--a disgraceful past to have been
driven to this--in the pay of Germany. I want to spare you misery.' I
was going to add: 'And if you're on your guard, to increase our
chances.' But the utter futility of such suggestions silenced me.
What a plan I had foreshadowed! An enticing plan and a fair one, too,
as against such adversaries; turning this baffling cross-current to
advantage as many a time we had worked eddies of an adverse tide in
these difficult seas. But Davies was Davies, and there was an end of
it; his faith and simplicity shamed me. And the pity of it, the
cruelty of it, was that his very qualities were his last torture,
raising to the acutest pitch the conflict between love and
patriotism. Remember that the latter was his dominant life-motive,
and that here and now was his chance--if you would gauge the
bitterness of that conflict.

It was in its last throes now. His elbows were on the table, and his
twitching hands pressed on his forehead. He took them away.