Do I, Bess, eh?" "Nobody whatever, love," replied Edgeworth Bess; "nobody but me, dear. You have been going out every morning, and coming home late—tired out—too tired to come down to dinner. Sheila grabbed the gun and laughed hysterically, brandishing the weapon and baying like a bear. He was a man tout à fait capable, this Gerald. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment.
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