The boy she had loved was gone. The intruder was handsomely, even richly, attired in a scarlet riding-suit, embroidered with gold; a broad belt, to which a hanger was attached, crossed his shoulders; his boots rose above his knee, and he carried a laced hat in his hand. “That thing’s going on,” she told herself. “But it is so difficult——” “Not at all,” he answered eagerly. "We've no time for any Bedlam scenes now. ‘You wish to die?’ ‘Not in the least. “And you must please not look at me as though I were an executioner,” she declared lightly.
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