I smiled: "That would cost you very little," I said.
There was another short silence. The girl looked at me with a curious intentness as though mentally appraising me—trying to establish in her mind any value I might represent to her—if any.
"It's like an innocent bystander being hit by a bullet in a revolution," she murmured: "it's a pity: but it is unavoidable, sometimes."
"I represent this theoretical and innocent bystander?"
"I'm afraid you do, Mr. O'Ryan; the chances are that you'll get hurt."
A perfectly inexplicable but agreeable tingling sensation began to invade me, amounting almost to exhilaration. Was it the Irish in me, subtly stirred, by the chance of a riot? Was it a possible opportunity to heave a brick, impartially and with Milesian enthusiasm?
"Thusis," said I, "there is only one question I must ask you to answer."
"I know what it is."
"What?"
"You are going to remind me that, to-day, the whole world is divided into two parts; that the greatest war of all times is being waged between the forces of light and of darkness. And you are going to ask me where I stand."