A certain grimness showed in the woman's face, making it sternly heroic as the face of Medea or Zenobia. She answered: "Do you think me the type that entreats, that sheds tears, that exercises wiles?" "We won't discuss your personality, madam! This interview is drawing to an end. Until we reach land, nothing can be done. Nothing, but to look out for your injury. Common humanity demands that your wound be dressed. Is it a serious hurt?" "Not compared with the hurt you are inflicting, in banishing me from the Flying Legion!" "Come, madam, refrain from extravagant speeches! What is your wound?" "A clean shot through the left arm, I think, a little below the shoulder." "I realize, of course, that to have Dr. Lombardo dress it would reveal your sex. Could you in any way manage the dressing, yourself?" "If given antiseptics and bandages, yes." "They shall be furnished, also a stateroom." "That will excite comment." "It may," the Master answered, "but there is no other way. I will manage everything privately, myself. Then I will let it transpire that there was some injury to the face, as well, and that the mask had to be removed. I can let the impression get about that you refused to allow anyone but me see your mutilated face. "I can also hint that I have helped you with the dressing, and have ordered you to keep your stateroom for a while. When it comes time to leave _Nissr_, I will dispatch you as a messenger. Thus your secret will remain intact. Besides, no one will dare inquire into anything. No one ventures to discuss or question any decision of mine." Something of hard arrogance sounded in the Master's voice. The woman thanked him, her eyes penetrant, keenly intelligent, even a trifle mocking. One would have said she was weighing this strange man in the balance of judgment, was finding him of sterling stuff, yet was perhaps cherishing a hope, not untinged with malice, that some day a turn of fate might humble him. The Master seemed to sense a little of this, and took a milder tone. "I must compliment you on one thing, madam," said he, with just the wraith of a smile. "Your acting has been perfection itself. And the fortitude with which you have borne the discomfort of that mask for more than a week, to achieve your ends, cannot be too highly praised." "Thank you," she replied. "I would have stood _that_ a year, to be one of your Legion! But now--tell me! Isn't there any possibility of your reversing your decision?" "None, madam." "Isn't there anything I can say or do to--" "Remember, you told me just a minute ago you were not the type of woman who entreats!" CHAPTER XIII THE ENMESHING OF THE MASTER