’ ‘Now you come to mention it, it is stupid,’ Gerald said, struck. " "Not unless your skull's bullet-proof," cried a voice at his elbow; and, as the words were uttered, a pistol was snapped at his head, which,—fortunately or unfortunately, as the reader pleases,—only burnt the priming. Sydney was strumming over a new song which stood upon the piano. She had no idea what she should do. She walked for a mile or more recklessly, close veiled, with swift level footsteps, though her brain was in a whirl and a horrible faintness all the time hovered about her. A shaft of searing heat plunged downward. “Look here! Aren’t you going a little too far? This—this is degradation—making a fuss with sleeves. It must be sent home this evening. . She wanted to return his gaze but focused intently on a spot next to and above the brick fireplace, as her music teachers had always taught her to do instead of looking directly at the audience.
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