‘Would it so? What sort of a girl is she, then?’ ‘She’s a consummate devil,’ Gerald declared roundly. ‘That—that—why do you speak of him?’ ‘Because I feel you ought to know,’ Gerald said calmly, but rising and watching her closely, ‘that all your trouble may be in vain. But I’m not a slut either, if that’s what you think. She was posing before the mirror, critically, miserably, defensively, and perhaps bewilderedly. Nothing else matters. For a few days she was fascinated by the place, exploring the moldy rooms, the weird treasures hiding in forgotten trousseaus. I know London better than you, and I have had to earn my own living. Before Wood had time to inquire into the cause of this sound, his attention was diverted by a man, who rushed past the entry with the swiftness of desperation. He had not had time to aim the pistol.
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