‘You, Mademoiselle Charvill, are as unlike most of your sex as you can be. . “What do you think you are doing?” He asked. Hastening to the spot where he had tied his horse to a tree, he vaulted into the saddle, and rode off across the fields,—for he was fearful of encountering the hostile party,—till he reached the Edgeware Road. She had never said anything so horrible to anyone in her life. His countenance was pale as death, but not a muscle quivered; nor did he betray the slightest appearance of fear. She gathered her black purse, a pointless thing made of cardboard covered in sateen and bejeweled with an assortment of rhinestones.
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