"I said nothing about him except that I began by liking him awfully."
"Well—you left the rest to my imagination. I did as well as I could. If you didn't hate him yourself, you'd hardly have been telling me all this, would you?"
"Oh—I don't know. I might be going to ask your advice about—about him."
"Take him out in your boat and drown him," suggested Lawrence. "That's my advice about him."
"What has he done to you, Mr. Lawrence?" enquired Fanny, gravely. "Why do you hate him so?"
"Why? It's plain enough, it seems to me—plain as a—what do you call the thing?"
"Plain as a marlinespike, you mean. Only it isn't. I want to know two things. Do you think I'm a flirt? And why do you want me to murder poor, innocent Mr. Brinsley? Do you mind answering?"
Lawrence's dark eyes began to gleam angrily. He bit his pipe and pulled at it, though it had gone out; then he took it from his lips and answered deliberately.
"If you are a flirt, Miss Trehearne, I don't wish Brinsley any further damage. He'll do very well in your hands, I'm sure. I have no anxiety."
"I wouldn't hurt a fly," said Fanny. "If I liked the fly," she added.