"Charming," said Tony. "I had no idea that Harrod was so blood-thirsty."
"Is it loaded?" inquired Guy with a faint trace of anxiety.
"Oh, yes," said Isabel promptly. "Harrod says it will kill a man at ten yards."
"You ought to hit Da Freitas all right at ten yards," observed Tony critically. "He's very podgy."
"You mustn't encourage her in such ideas," broke in Guy. "We are not in Livadia or South America." He turned to Isabel. "People don't shoot at each other in England," he explained. "It's against the law and they would be very severely punished. You had better give me that to look after for you."
Isabel shook her head. "I shall shoot at him if he tries to take me back," she said with determination. "I would rather go to prison than marry Pedro."
"A very healthy and reasonable sentiment," remarked Tony. "Guy has the most morbid ideas about the sanctity of human life. He ought to belong to the National Liberal Club."
Isabel put back the pistol into her pocket, and after one more unavailing effort Guy abandoned his protest as useless.
"I suppose it's on a par with the rest of the situation," he observed gloomily. "We shall probably all end in prison or something worse before we've finished."
Tony laughed and pushed across the whisky.