He sat across the table, beside Lady Jane, who was opposite Dorothy.  If he noticed that she failed to return his greeting, he was not troubled.  To his credit be it said, however, he did not again address a remark to her during the meal.  Within the sound of his voice, under the spell of his presence, in such close proximity to his strong, full-blooded body, she could not but give a part of her thought to this man who, of all others, the mob would slay if they had the chance.

She could not conceal from herself the relief she felt in mingling with friends.  A willful admiration grew full in the face of resentful opposition, and there was a reckless downfall of dignity.  They treated her without restraint, talked as freely of their affairs as if she were not there, boldly discussed the situation in Brussels, and laughed over the frantic efforts of the authorities.  Helplessly she was drawn into the conversation, and, at last, to her dismay, joined with them in condolences to the police.

“But some day they will find the right trail and pounce upon you like so many wild beasts,” she said, soberly.  “What then?  You may be laughing too soon.”

“It would be hard luck to have to break up such an awfully nice house party,” said Dickey, solemnly.

“And the papers say they will kill us without compunction,” added Lady Jane.

“It wouldn’t be the first slaughter this old house has known,” said Lord Bob.  “In the old days they used to kill people here as a form of amusement.”

“It might amuse some people even in our case, but not for me, thanks,” said Quentin.  “They’d execute me first, however, and I wouldn’t have to endure the grief of seeing the rest of you tossed out of the windows.”

“Do you really believe they would kill poor little me?” demanded Lady Jane, slowly, her eyes fastened on her brother’s face.

“Good Heaven, no!” cried Dorothy, at the possibility of such a calamity.  “Why should they kill a helpless girl like you?”

“But I am one of the wretches they are hunting for.  I’m a desperado,” argued Lady Jane.

“I’d insist on their killing Lady Jane just the same as the rest of us.  It would be all wrong to discriminate, even if she is young and—­and—­well, far from ugly,” declared Dickey, decidedly.

“You might try to save my life, Mr. Savage; it would be the heroic thing to do,” she said.

“Well I’ll agree to let ’em kill me twice if it will do any good.  They’d surely be obliging if I said it was to please a lady.  Couldn’t you suggest something of the kind to them, Miss Garrison?  You know the whole massacre is in your honor, and I imagine you might have a good bit to say about the minor details.  Of course, Lady Jane and I are minor details—­purely incidentals.”

“We are in the chorus, only,” added Lady Jane, humbly.

“If you persist in this talk about being killed, I’ll go upstairs and never come down again,” cried Dorothy, wretchedly, and the company laughed without restraint.