Wood," she cried, as the staff fell from his grasp. She had no intention of fighting fair. ” She sat quite still looking at him. The newcomer stopped short upon the threshold. " "Who told you this is his portrait?" demanded Trenchard. His eyes on Melusine, he uncocked the pistol, and then reached out to the portrait, grasping it by one edge. See, it is on my cards—M. ’ ‘No, you are a gentleman,’ she agreed. But the young man with the orange tie remained in his place, disputing whether the body had not something or other which he called its legitimate claims. ‘But to do only what one wishes, it is not always convenient. .
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