He swore that I was his wife, and—I shot him, Nigel, as his arms were closing around me. “We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other. In the midst of them there was a cart with a man in it—and that man was Jack—my son Jack—they were going to hang him. “It is an annoyance, my friend,” she said, “not a tragedy. This was no night for the indulgence of dreamy musing. “A man like that taints a girl by looking at her, by his mere conversation. ‘Why do you stand there? Take him up, and bring him out at once. If she could not marry him, she would not marry any one. But there was only Gosse, still struggling with the picture, looking dazedly towards Melusine and the lad he had shot, then away towards the sounds of pursuit, and back again. “Women should understand men’s affairs, perhaps,” said Miss Garvice, “but to mingle in them is just to sacrifice that power of influencing they can exercise now.
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