Mrs. For was not Gerald a gentleman? An Englishman, whose services any female—excluding her own self so idiote— would be very happy to have. She was new, unlike any other woman he had met in all his wide travel. The air might be cool, but half an hour without head-gear was an invitation to sunstroke. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. “Yet it is my last evening, and I think —if you are sure that you would like to have me—that I will risk it. But I've an old friend on the way here, and he knows the game down there.
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