She saw how overworked he was. She was herself conscious of a recklessness of spirits almost hysterical. The horror of those few minutes was still with her. She was dressed in a simple evening gown of soft creamy silk, with a yoke of dark old embroidery that enhanced the gentle gravity of her style, and her black hair flowed off her open forehead to pass under the control of a simple ribbon of silver. It had seemed to her that life might be very good indeed with his kindliness and sacrifice about her. Then she sat down—uninvited— and looked from one to the other curiously. She watched the captain tuck the pistol back in his pocket, and perch on the edge of the big desk. The situation bothered him considerably.
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