’ ‘Where then is your uniform?’ ‘I don’t wear it to balls. To his consternation, she was holding an unwieldy, ugly-looking pistol, all wood and tarnished steel, with both hands about the butt. In the twilight he had ceased to be a person one could tackle and shame; he had become something more general, a something that crawled and sneaked toward her and would not let her alone. His diminutive hand flew out from behind his back like a wounded bird. "Let us sit here," she said, indicating the white sand bordering the lagoon; "and in a minute or two you will see something quite wonderful. Let’s go. But send me word.
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