To his consternation, she was holding an unwieldy, ugly-looking pistol, all wood and tarnished steel, with both hands about the butt. Afraid, no doubt, he thought grimly, that her other visitor would leave. She moved her hand off of his knee, deliberately slow. She turned about, and was persecuted by visions, half memories, half dreams, of Ramage. The iron slipped from his face, leaving it blank with astonishment. She ignored his question. She felt that she had passed a difficult corner, and that now she could go on talking with him again, just as she had been used to do before she understood what was the matter with her. What’s that?” They both stood listening. Well, I told aunt. And yet, when you offered to help, it was what is to come that I had in mind. Don’t be afraid that I shall stunt it. She closed her eyes, discerning the divinations he had been up to during her violin concert.
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