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‘Stand where you are, or I shoot!’ Like lightning, thoughts zipped through her mind. She was perhaps three-and-twenty, and very pink and healthy-looking, showing a great deal of white and rounded neck above her business-like but altogether feminine blouse, and a good deal of plump, gesticulating forearm out of her short sleeve. I could make away with him at once, as you are about to make away with your nephew, Sir Rowland,—but that wouldn't serve my turn. ’ The lady’s face came round, a puzzled frown on her brow. Perhaps her odd beauty—and that too was natural—stirred these thoughts into being.
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