"Would they shoot me?" she inquired in her most terrified manner, her eyes wide open with beautifully simulated terror.
"'Would they shoot me?' she inquired."
He felt so sorry for the poor little frightened thing. He longed to gather her up in his arms and comfort her, reassure her.
"They might," he returned, stepping nearer to her and visibly unbending. "I cannot have you take the risk. I won't allow it!"
There was something nice, after all, in the imperative mood, she thought.
"But how will you prevent it, Mr. Sempland?"
"I tell you, I forbid you!"
"But if I disobey? I never promised to obey you, did I?—that is, not yet?"