“Only!” shuddered Miss Bussey. “It’s a mercy we weren’t killed.”
It appeared that this mercy had not stopped at Miss Bussey and her friends. Nobody had been killed—not even the magistrate on the third floor for whose discipline and reformation the occurrence had been arranged; and presently the carriages were allowed to proceed.
Lady Deane’s grief at having missed so interesting an occasion was very poignant.
“No, Roger,” said she, “it is not a mere craving for horrors, or a morbid love of excitement; I wish I had been there to observe the crowd, because it’s just at such moments that people reveal their true selves. The veil is lifted—the veil of hypocrisy and convention—and you see the naked soul.”
“You could hear it too, Maud,” observed Sir Roger. “Fine chance of improving your French vocabulary. Still, I daresay you’re right.”
“I’m sure I am.”
Deane looked at his wife meditatively.
“You think,” he asked, “that being in danger might make people——”
“Reveal their inmost natures and feelings? I’m sure of it.”
“Gad! Then we might try.”