Q. In February 2008, my parents purchased a dream cruise around Europe through a company called Vantage Deluxe World Travel, a large tour operator based in Boston that markets to seniors. After reviewing promotional literature with a Vantage agent, my parents booked their trip over the phone. The Vantage agent encouraged them to buy the company’s “Passenger Protection Plan,” suggesting that if they bought the insurance and had to cancel their trip, they would receive a refund.

All told, my parents paid Vantage $9,688 for the trip and an additional $978 for the travel protection. One month before the planned departure, my father suffered a heart attack. My mother canceled the trip and requested a refund.

However, Vantage Travel responded by sending my parents vouchers for credit for future travel with Vantage. Apparently, in one of the many mailings there was fine print indicating that the “refund” would be in the form of credit.

But this mailing arrived after my parents had sent Vantage thousands of dollars, and it is not what they were told when they booked the trip.

My father passed away in late March of this year. I have spent months trying to get Vantage to honor its promises, but Vantage is retaining the full $10,666.14.

— Catherine Bendor, Washington

A. See if you can guess how Vantage Travel responded to the Haggler’s inquiries about this one. Did you guess, “Cast the company as a victim and make personal attacks on Catherine Bendor”? No? Then you guessed wrong.

Because, after a couple of weeks of calling and e-mailing Henry R. Lewis, Vantage’s chief executive, the Haggler heard from the company’s general counsel, Keith Nashawaty. Nashawaty howled at the unfairness of a universe in which the Bendors of the world can badger the likes of Vantage Travel.

“At some point,” he said, “this becomes a harassing situation for a company that is entirely above board at every stage of the game.”

Nashawaty went so far as to suggest that Bendor, a Harvard Law graduate, might be hoping that her crusade against Vantage would lead to a new career suing travel companies.

Nashawaty points out that the Bendors bought “travel protection,” not insurance. Indeed, in the mailings that the couple received after booking their trip, the plan is described this way: “In essence, should you have to cancel your cruise for a covered medical reason — anytime prior to departure — you need not worry about forfeiting the cost.”

After reading those words, you might think “protection” amounts to a money-back guarantee. The verbiage here implies “refund” without saying so.

On the phone, of course, the Bendors came away believing they would be made financially whole if they couldn’t travel. So the Haggler asked to listen to the tape of the Bendors’ conversation with that Vantage agent in February 2008.

Initially, Nashawaty turned down the Haggler’s requests. On Monday, though, Nashawaty relented and sent a digital copy of the conversation by e-mail. The money quotations come right after the Vantage operator tallies the charges.

“Let me just ask you something here,” says Edgar Bendor, Catherine’s father. “The travel protection is in case we become ill and we can’t go. So in other words, we wouldn’t have to pay all that if we didn’t go. But what about medical insurance?”

The agent’s next words: “Basically, the travel protection before your trip will allow you to cancel for any reason, OK? And then while you’re on the trip it covers you for interruption, delay, medical emergency evacuation, up to $100,000 per person.”

It is obvious that Bendor had the wrong idea about what “protection” means here, and it is equally obvious that the operator was careful not to disabuse him of his misimpression. Instead, she read from a script that tiptoes close to the line that separates literally true from outright misleading.

Nashawaty wouldn’t discuss the tape, but for whatever reason he called Catherine Bendor two weeks ago and the two reached a settlement.