Sylvia looked up as the sharp metallic click of the locked breech rang out in the silence.
“Why do you do this, Mr. Siward?”
“I don't know; really I am honest; I don't know.”
“It could not be because I—”
“No, of course not,” he said, too seriously to reassure her.
“Mr. Siward,” in quick displeasure.
“Yes?”
“What you do for your amusements cannot concern me.”
“Right as usual,” he said so gaily that a reluctant smile trembled on her lips.
“Then why have you done this? It is unreasonable—if you don't feel as I do about killing things that are having a good time in the world.”