She was dressed as English girls do dress for town, without either coquetry or harshness: her collarless blouse confessed a pretty neck, her eyes were bright and steady, and her dark hair waved loosely and graciously over her ears. “You won’t give me away, Anna. You are taking it for granted that I am ‘Alcide. And yet that could not be: it was a confession only in the event of his death. And if you dare to produce any kind of weapon at all,’ he added, taking a plain brass-barrelled little pistol from his own pocket and levelling it, ‘I will have no compunction in blowing off your head, you madcap female. I have only seen your sister for a very brief time, and I am a little past the age when a man does headstrong things.
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