He swore that I was his wife, and—I shot him, Nigel, as his arms were closing around me. It was time to leave America. I felt as though I had bandaged eyes. ‘Would you like me to enquire for your mystery lady, Gerald? I know the Comte and Comtesse de St Erme quite well. "Is this a season to speak on such a subject?" "Perhaps not," rejoined the woollen-draper; "but the uncontrollable violence of my passion must plead my excuse. But this was but a momentary gleam of personal application, and at this time she followed it up no further. I shall never go back to him; never, never!" Distressed, embarrassed beyond measure by this unexpected tragic revelation, the doctor puttered about among the bottles on the stand.
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