“Charming theories, but dangerous in practice; above all, dangerous for you. Go home. You can see your friends again when things are more settled. Don’t think I don’t admire your pluck; I do. In all my experience I never met a woman ready for greater risk; but we value you too much to let you go.” It was a wearisome line of attack. I could so much more easily have dealt with violence from a would-be dictator. I tried again, hoping to silence a busy man. “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.” I saw that I must not only be firm, but I must speak, and speak plainly. “If any harm comes of it,” I said, seriously enough, God knows, “it will be my own fault. The Turk respects women who respect themselves. Ten years ago I went to Asia Minor, with a military escort, the only woman; but I was absolutely safe all the time, everywhere.” There was no more to be said. Discomfited, indeed, by so much chivalry, I left him, intending, after all, to wait and see if war were declared. But, fortunately, I had given no promise, for to the Scotchman I knew truth and honour were sacred things. In justice to the official attitude, it should be clearly said that no one could be expected to understand what I should have given up had I returned to England, under orders, with the rest of my compatriots. What, after all, were the difficulties that I had overcome in comparison with my real object—to reach Angora? What matter if the family coffers, the purses of my friends, and even editorial generosity, were one and all closed against me? None should have on their conscience that they had sent me to my death!