“My husband!” she laughed a little derisively. Only she was conscious of an unfamiliar and wonderful emotion. He was wrapped in a loose dressing-gown of light material, and stood near the corner where the women's dresses had just been thrown down, quite out of sight of all the party, except Mrs. Gosse sagged under the impact, knocking over the card table, and falling to sit, half stunned, the discharged pistol flying from his slackened grasp. If our young person hadn’t had the nurse part cut out, eh? She might have known more and done less. The water was cold but she waded deeper. ‘Where’s the sense in running away?’ ‘Doesn’t trust me,’ Gerald said briefly. He sat down beside her just as the room became darker. She posed herself before her mirror and surveyed herself with gravely thoughtful, gravely critical, and yet admiring eyes. To be confronted with the girl’s damned Frenchman of a husband was another matter altogether.
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