" "I hope such a thing never will happen again, my dear," observed Wood, mildly, "but, when it does, it will be time to consider what course we ought to pursue. They drove up into Paris in an open fiacre with a soft cool wind blowing in their faces, hand in hand beneath the rug. What had shifted his casual interest was the visible prospect of a party of three who were coming down the packet gangplank. To his consternation, she was holding an unwieldy, ugly-looking pistol, all wood and tarnished steel, with both hands about the butt. Sampans with fish and fruit and vegetables swarmed about, while overhead gulls wheeled and swooped and circled. Mirages, over which he was constantly throwing bridges which were wasted efforts, since invariably they spanned solid ground. I would be too 222 busy protecting you. " "Ah. Now it is—’ ‘What are you doing still here, missie, that’s what I’d like to know?’ demanded the man Trodger, sticking to his guns.
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