"Well, I suppose I ought to say I am obliged to you.

Consider that I have said it and--pray, don't let me keep you." Celia rose, the revolver still in her hand.
"Good night," she said.
"Here!" he called out to her, wearily; "give me back that thing; put it down." "Certainly not," said Celia, with decision.

"You are not fit to be trusted with it." "Oh, am I not ?" he said, sarcastically.
"You know you are not.

What were you doing with it, what were you going to do with it, when I came in ?" she demanded.
"What an unnecessary question," he retorted.

"I was going to shoot myself, of course." "Exactly.