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“Please imagine you are an American,” I suggested, “and that time is money.”

“Time is not money when a woman’s life is at stake. Forgive me, your courage—which I shall never forget—is immense, but you are not a sportsman!”

“What do you mean?”

“It is not fair to us—Englishmen! What will the Turks think of us, allowing it? They will have a mighty poor opinion of British chivalry. And we do not deserve it! Would they let one of their women do such a thing? We, too, protect our women!”

I was losing ground, at least that appeal hurt; but I could not yield.

“You need not worry,” I replied, with more unconcern than I could really feel at the moment. “I will see that they understand. They do know how England cares for her women; but they know me, what a determined customer I am. They will not blame you.”

He played his last card, bashfully indeed, but with a grim resolve that won my respect.

“Dear lady, I have no wish to be personal, but you have driven me to it. You are not—ugly enough to undertake this journey.... Go and see the British Navy you love so much. We will look after the Turks, and you too. Come and see them when we have finished with them.”