” Anna stopped in front of her. His complexion was as blue as a sailor's jacket, and though Mr. Smith's solitary orb followed in the same direction. He had mentioned teaching her how to read Latin one day when she had wandered into the library. That would be an unkind twist of fate. He could not tell by the look of her whether she was glad or sorry that presently she would be free. Then he paused. ‘At me,’ she uttered, holding her own pistol high and aiming it steadily. I couldn't accept anything from you. ‘You make a game with me, I think. “Forgive me,” he decided to say at last, and his voice had a little quiver of emotion, and he laid his hand on hers upon her knee. ‘You damned little fool! How dared you steal my sword?’ Her eyes flew open. Who could say that the girl's father had not once been a fashionable clergyman in the States and that drink had got him and forced him down, step by step, until—to use the child's odd expression—he had come upon the beach? She was cynical, this spinster. . .
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