“Now I’ll have what I want from you, wife. ” He threw open the door of the sitting-room and switched on the electric light. It’s not you—not a bit. ‘At me,’ she uttered, holding her own pistol high and aiming it steadily. Or, if this goodlooking young fellow will only say the word, I'll go with him. “There’s twenty before you, and Mr. Burn your palette and your easel. The features were indistinct, but was that not a halo of white about it? And the dark shadow below, was that a cloak, or the habit of a nun? Skirting the dancing, from which he had taken a breather—not from lack of energy, but to escape the inanities of the young ladies he had partnered—Gerald made his way to a side door in the saloon and opened it.
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