“You mean,—Manuel's men will make way with him? How horrible!”
“Do not waste your sympathy on zat Fernandez. He is no good. You would see what kind of man he is if this plot should succeed.”
“But you will have to give him your answer tomorrow,” cried Ruth.
Olga shot a keen glance at Percival's face.
“It is for you to say, Percivail, what my answer shall be,” said she, after, a slight pause. A queer pallor spread over her face.
“For me to say?” he exclaimed.
“Are you not the governor? If it suits your plans for me to give myself to zat man—”
“My God, Olga! What the devil are you driving at?”
“—to satisfy him until you are prepared to nip zis revolution in the bud, as you say,—I shall—”
“Thunderation!” he gasped. “You mean you would sacrifice yourself—Great Scot! What do you think I'm expecting to do? Go to sleep for a month or so? Bless your heart, my dear Olga, if you are even thinking of getting married to Fernandez, you'll have to be pretty spry about it. Because I'm going to nip the business in the bud before tomorrow morning.”