“It is a secret mission,” she declared. Dear me, what a nuisance it is to have a pseudo husband shot down upon one from the skies. Mr. Such was the effect produced upon the passengers by his good looks and manly deportment, that few—especially of the gentler and more susceptible sex—failed to turn round and bestow a second glance upon the handsome stranger. She had traversed perhaps three bookshelves, passed across the door that must lead to the hall, turned the corner, and was just about to reach the fireplace when she abruptly became aware that something under her fingers had felt wrong. Fate has two methods of procedure—the sudden and the long-drawn-out.
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