about that.

"Surely you are not a coward?" suddenly she asked me.

"I do not know," I replied. "Perhaps I am, but I do not know.
I have long given up thinking about such things."

"If I said to you, 'Kill that man,' would you kill him?"

"Whom?"

"Whomsoever I wish?"

"The Frenchman?"

"Do not ask me questions; return me answers. I repeat,
whomsoever I wish? I desire to see if you were speaking
seriously just now."

She awaited my reply with such gravity and impatience that I
found the situation unpleasant.

"Do YOU, rather, tell me," I said, "what is going on here? Why
do you seem half-afraid of me? I can see for myself what is
wrong. You are the step-daughter of a ruined and insensate man
who is smitten with love for this devil of a Blanche. And there
is this Frenchman, too, with his mysterious influence over you.
Yet, you actually ask me such a question! If you do not tell me
how things stand, I shall have to put in my oar and do something.
Are you ashamed to be frank with me? Are you shy of me? "