It seemed an emblem of the ruin he had caused. Sheila was often a terror to her husband Mark, who seemed afraid of her. Shakily, she rose with the sword and drove it through Rhea’s heart. “Veronique!” she cried with a rising intonation, though never before had she called Ann Veronica anything but Miss Stanley, and seized her and squeezed her and kissed her with profound emotion. His attention drawn, the captain was easily able to make out the pretty features under the feathered hat, and the same dark riding habit the fugitive had worn on that first occasion at Remenham House. He thought of her and himself, and no longer in that vein of incidental adventure in which he had begun. Pragmar, the wholesale druggist, who lived three gardens away, and who had been mowing his lawn to get an appetite for dinner, standing in a fascinated attitude beside the forgotten lawn-mower and watching her intently. No offence, I hope.
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