“Do you really believe they would kill poor little me?” demanded Lady Jane, slowly, her eyes fastened on her brother's face.
“Good Heaven, no!” cried Dorothy, at the possibility of such a calamity. “Why should they kill a helpless girl like you?”
“But I am one of the wretches they are hunting for. I'm a desperado,” argued Lady Jane.
“I'd insist on their killing Lady Jane just the same as the rest of us. It would be all wrong to discriminate, even if she is young and—and—well, far from ugly,” declared Dickey, decidedly.
“You might try to save my life, Mr. Savage; it would be the heroic thing to do,” she said.
“Well I'll agree to let 'em kill me twice if it will do any good. They'd surely be obliging if I said it was to please a lady. Couldn't you suggest something of the kind to them, Miss Garrison? You know the whole massacre is in your honor, and I imagine you might have a good bit to say about the minor details. Of course, Lady Jane and I are minor details—purely incidentals.”
“We are in the chorus, only,” added Lady Jane, humbly.
“If you persist in this talk about being killed, I'll go upstairs and never come down again,” cried Dorothy, wretchedly, and the company laughed without restraint.
“Dickey, if you say another word that sounds like 'kill' I'll murder you myself,” threatened Lord Bob.
Lady Jane began whetting a silver table knife on the edge of her plate.