” “I will have your reason for this,” he said. ‘Move, you. He swore that I was his wife, and—I shot him, Nigel, as his arms were closing around me. She confronted him with his own double-standard. She heard her husband’s heavy tread descending the stairs, and the wheels of his carriage as he drove off. “I’m fine,” she said softly. A tinge of admiration rose in his breast. Her formerly brown hair was dyed a white shade of blonde. Heaven knows what dim and tawdry conceptions of passion and desire were in that blond cranium, what romance-begotten dreams of intrigue and adventure! but they sufficed, when presently Ann Veronica went out into the darkling street again, to inspire a flitting, dogged pursuit, idiotic, exasperating, indecent. She was supposed to be lifeless; but she survived the accident, though she never regained her strength.
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