But irresponsible egotist though he might be, yet in common with others he was actuated by the desire which his sister's fragile loveliness inspired in every one to spare her unnecessary pain or anxiety.
"It's not myself will take any risks," he said again.

"We are at war, and when men are at war killing becomes a sort of habit, and one life more or less is neither here nor there." And upon that he renewed his plea that she should hide him if she could and that on no account should she tell a single soul--and Sir Terence least of any--of his presence.
Having driven him to the verge of frenzy by the waste of precious moments in vain argument, she gave him at last the promise he required.
"Go back to the bushes there," she bade him, "and wait until I come for you.

I will make sure that the coast is clear." Contiguous to her dressing-room, which overlooked the quadrangle, there was a small alcove which had been converted into a storeroom for the array of trunks and dress boxes that Lady O'Moy had brought from England.

A door opening directly from her dressing room communicated with this alcove, and of that door Bridget, her maid, was in possession of the key.
As she hurried now indoors she happened to meet Bridget on the stairs.
The maid announced herself on her way to supper in the servants' quarters, and apologised for her presumption in assuming that her ladyship would no further require her services that evening.

But since it fell in so admirably with her ladyship's own wishes, she insisted with quite unusual solicitude, with vehemence almost, that Bridget should proceed upon her way.
"Just give me the key of the alcove," she said.