She flushed, actually—this player of many parts.
“Milord!” she cried, “his hired bravo!”
“Well,” said Ned, “you must admit I have some excuse for thinking it.”
“So!” she answered, recovering herself with a long-drawn breath. “It is true.”
She smiled upon him.
“Had I chalk-marked you at the first, mon cher, I could not have hit you nearer where I intended. When I desire to keel, I keel. When I weesh for to place one hors-de-combat—pour citer un exemple—” she touched his shoulder delicately with her finger-tips.
“You intended to put me on the shelf?” said Ned, surprised.
She nodded.
“On my uncle’s behalf?”
“Ah!” she cried, “you weesh too many answer. I will tell you it was all arrange by me. It was only when the old man smell blood he get beside of himself. You come in my way: I must remove you. That is it.”