(“No, no. . ’ Melusine jumped. " "Who are you?" ejaculated Trenchard, scarcely able to credit his senses. He had hurt 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. “Do you think it is fair of you to persecute me just now?” “It is not persecution, Anna,” he answered gently. She got up and unlocked the door. “You heard no pistol-shot?” “None. Ruth could not very well object, since an air of distinction would go with Taber. No blowzy barmaids for him to-day: an American bar-keep to whom he could tell his troubles and receive the proper meed of sympathy.
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