“This is mere nonsense, mere tongue-tied fear!” she said. “Of course, one lives differently in Paris, but then—Paris is Paris. Honestly, I never did. And I have no more the pistol. She watched the captain tuck the pistol back in his pocket, and perch on the edge of the big desk. She cocked her head. But—but how?’ ‘Can you write?’ Gerald asked, digging into one of his capacious pockets and bringing out a leather ring purse. The voices went into his ears but left no impression of their import. “You will write to me, I am sure—and from the date of your letter I trust most earnestly that I may come back to my old place as “Your devoted friend, “WALTER BRENDON.
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