Help—should she need it—from the natives was out of the question. “Your father,” he said, “remarked that all’s well that ends well, and that he was disposed to let bygones be bygones. “Yes. ” With a little crash the pistol fell from her shaking fingers. “Will you come this way,” she said, “into the drawing-room? There is no one there just now. She tried to compose her thoughts, to think of the last six months, to steep herself in the calm beauty of the surroundings. She sought hastily in her mind for a plausible answer to an obvious question that didn’t come.
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