But nobody had, evidently. They had all been too excited and horror-struck at the time to have noticed anything.
“I saw it was a knife, and that was all,” said Ruth.
“I never saw a man dance before,” observed Mollie, as if following aloud a train of thoughts she had been pursuing while the others talked. “I was almost sorry he said he would, but when I saw what kind of dancing it was I was glad. It was really and truly a man’s dance. I think it must have been a toreador’s dance, don’t you?”
“Something like this,” said Ruth, using a towel for a scarf and a comb for a dagger. “And, by the way,” she continued, pausing as she pranced around the room, “how did he happen to have a dagger so handy!”
“That’s because he is a Spaniard, my dear,” remarked Miss Sallie. “These foreigners carry anything from dynamite bombs to carving knives. They are always murdering and slashing one another.”
“Perhaps,” cried Mollie, excitedly, “it was the Black Hand that tried to kill him.”
The others all laughed.
“Really, Mollie,” cried Miss Sallie, “don’t add any more horrors to the situation. We are already surrounded by Gypsies, and tramps and assassins.”
“But protected, Aunt Sallie, dear,” protested Ruth, “protected by five ‘gintlemin frinds,’ as Irish Nora used to say.”
“Well, dress yourselves now,” said Miss Stuart, making for the door with her silken draperies trailing after her. “And remember, Ruth, dear, if your father scolds us for staying I shall lay all the blame on you.”