‘That’s why I never told Joan Ibstock that you were still with me when I wrote. To her satisfaction, the captain reddened a trifle. ‘Would you have me face my maker with that on my conscience? If I’d died, there’d have been no one to tell you, for your father would not have done. From the further end of the apartment came the low music of a violin. “I would give my life for you. Unless it was a jewel or locket of some kind. I'm always shy the price of the ticket home. ” “I am going to ask more than a favour,” she said slowly.
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