“No; it is not that!” broke in the girl. “He is right. Neither of us has the courage–even when he is asleep.”
“My dear Miss Genevieve, this beast instinct to kill–”
“Yes; but think of him. If he is a beast, he is at least a brave one. While we–we haven’t the courage of rabbits. I thought you called yourself an English gentleman. Are you going to stand by, and not lift a finger?”
“Really, now, Miss Genevieve, to murder a man–”
“Self-defence is not a crime–self-preservation. If you have a spark of manhood–”
“My dear–”
“For Heaven’s sake, if you can’t do anything, at least keep still! Oh, I’m sure I shall go mad! If only I had been drowned!”
“Ah, yes, to be sure. But really now, what you ask is a good deal for a man to risk. The fellow might wake up and murder me! Should I take the risk, might I–er–expect some manifestation of your gratitude, Miss Genevieve?”
“Of course! of course! I should always–”
“I–ah–refer to the–the–bestowal of your hand.”