Something made Judith draw back. "I—it's been used."
The Colonel was irritated. "Upon my word, Judith, I should think you were Beth. Of course it's been used; you can see that on the blade. Look!"
He drew it from the sheath. The blade was of the usual stout Japanese model, with a quick edge which much whetting had made very fine. An injury had marred the symmetry of the weapon: it was evident that an eighth of an inch had been broken from the point, which, ground again as sharp as ever, had lost in beauty but gained in suggestiveness. The Colonel touched the point.
"On armour or on bone, do you suppose?" he asked.
Judith had recovered herself. "You're rather grewsome, sir."
"Hang it," he complained, sheathing the knife again. "I thought you'd like it. But Jim will, anyway." He laid the knife on the table.
"You're not going to keep it there?" she asked.
"Indeed I am," he answered. "Don't look at it if you don't want to." He started to go, then paused. "Judith, I have asked Mr. Ellis to dinner."
She was surprised by the statement, so suddenly made and of such deep meaning. All she could do was to repeat his words. "You have asked Mr. Ellis to dinner?"
"Gad!" exclaimed the poor Colonel. "Is anything wrong with you this afternoon? You are hard to please."