"So you're writing under a nom de plume, eh?" said McClintock, holding out the letter. "Not exactly," answered Jonathan, drily. ” Annabel shrugged her shoulders. If I could but——” To escape from her thoughts she began to undress, humming a light tune to herself, though her eyes were hot with unshed tears, and the sobs kept rising in her throat. The gun flew from his hand, clacking on the floor. “I suppose you know I like you tremendously?” he pursued. Then she took her sister’s hand. “I remember it very well indeed. “His dress for no man lays a snare; A man scores always, everywhere.
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