Our ideal had fallen. She went to her room and changed the loose morning gown in which she had lunched for a dark walking dress. . “If only Sir John were not Sir John I would ask you to come and have some supper. But I want to know whether in such an event you would stand by me?” She held out her hand. ‘Oh, you are making a game with me. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. ” The dinner came to an end at last, and the whiskered waiter presented his bill and evacuated the apartment and closed the door behind him with an almost ostentatious discretion. The struggles of the wounded man were desperate—so desperate, that in his agony he overset the table, and, in the confusion, tore off the cloth, and disclosed a face horribly mutilated, and streaming with blood.
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