Roger. Ha, ha! Potts, some time that heart of yours won't stand the fire. Then I will charter a Gatling gun to return all your volleys.
Dor. (looking at Roger's hand). But what is this? Some danger lurks near a friend; perhaps a brother.
Roger. I have no brother.
Dor. No; not a real brother, but—
Roger. The colonel?
Dor. (excitedly). Yes, yes. You must save him. He shall owe his life to you. Some one calling himself friend is his foe. (Rising; forgets, and assumes natural voice.) He has done you a grievous wrong, but you will forgive that?
Roger. That voice! (Raises Dorothy's veil.) Dorothy?
Potts. Cleverly done, little maid. You actually waited eight minutes. (Looks at watch.)
Roger. Major! Dorothy, what does this mean?