Potts. A well-laid scheme, Roger, to hold a stolen interview with you. Miss Dorothy, you can talk with Roger just five minutes, no longer. The colonel will return by that time.
(Exit Major. Roger sits on log; Dor. kneels at his side.)
Dor. Forgive me for coming, Roger, but I was so anxious.
Roger. Anxious, little one? Why, what is the trouble? Is it a quarrel with “my dearest friend Mollie”?
Dor. Don't speak like that. No one ever gives me credit for any depth of feeling, just because I laugh and take the good of life as it comes along.
Roger. Which I hope you will always do, Dorothy dear. Come, forgive me, and tell me your trouble.
Dor. Before the colonel left home after his illness, Mr. Newcomb called one day. I entered the drawing-room, and overheard a conversation which he was having with some man,—a soldier in the colonel's regiment.
Roger. Did you hear the man's name?
Dor. Yes; Mr. Newcomb called him Gibbs. Oh, I was so frightened, for I heard them plan to kill the colonel.
Roger. Kill the colonel? How? When?