The thought had sprung to my mind as Barbara spoke.

If I could come safely and secretly to a certain house in a certain alley in the town of Dover, I could have money for the sake of old acquaintance, and what had once been something more, between her and me.

But would Barbara take largesse from that hand?
I am a coward with women; ignorance is fear's mother and, on my life, I do not know how they will take this thing or that, with scorn or tears or shame or what, or again with some surprising turn of softness and (if I may make bold to say it) a pliability of mind to which few of us men lay claim and none give honour.

But the last mood was not Barbara's, and, as I looked at her, I dared not tell her where lay my only hope of help in Dover.

I put my wits to work how I could win the aid for her, and keep the hand a secret.