A small handgun bobbed at the end of it, aimed at Sheila. “You belong to me,” he said fiercely; “the marriage certificate is in my pocket. It’s that has always made me—SHE, you know, was drawn into a set—didn’t discriminate Private theatricals. “The young women of Jane Austen’s time didn’t get into this sort of scrape! At least—one thinks so. At the farther end of the Lodge, the floor was raised to the height of a couple of steps; whence the whole place, with the exception of the remotest corner of the angle before-mentioned, could be commanded at a single glance. “MY DEAR MISS STANLEY,” it began,—“I hope you will forgive my bothering you with a letter, but I have been thinking very much over our conversation at Lady Palsworthy’s, and I feel there are things I want to say to you so much that I cannot wait until we meet again.
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