"There's his present!" she cried angrily, "but I wish I could dance on him the same way! I wish—I wish I could hang him!"
"Can you?" demanded Lucian swiftly, taking her in the moment of wrath, when she seemed disposed to speak.
"No!" said Rhoda shortly. "I can't!"
"Do you think he killed Mr. Vrain?"
"No, I don't!"
"Do you know who did?"
"Blest if I do!"
"Does Mr. Wrent?" asked Denzil meaningly.
The girl wet her finger and went through a childish game. "That's wet," she said; then wiping the finger on her dingy skirt, "that's dry. Cut my throat if I tell a lie. Ask me something easier, Mr. Denzil."
"I don't understand you," said Lucian, quite puzzled.