And, lastly, to the Seven Cities o' Refuge, in the New Mint. In her little sitting-room she turned on the electric light and looked around half fearfully. ‘This is altogether insupportable!’ She dug a hand into the recesses of the petticoat of her riding habit and a moment later Gerald found himself once again confronting the barrel of her overlarge and tarnished pistol. Pure luck! If the boy had grown a moustache or a beard, a needle in the haystack would have been soft work. How clever she was, to fool everybody so easily! Not yet had any one suspected the truth: that she was, in a certain worldly sense, only four weeks old, that her every act had been written down on paper beforehand, and that her success lay in rigidly observing the rules which she herself had drafted to govern her conduct. I had no idea.
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