Sir James Thornhill, then, rose. " "Not unless your skull's bullet-proof," cried a voice at his elbow; and, as the words were uttered, a pistol was snapped at his head, which,—fortunately or unfortunately, as the reader pleases,—only burnt the priming. ” Anna laughed, and went back to her easy chair. There was no sense in creating further difficulties for herself by arguing with the sergeant over her identity. And she had been doubting since that walk in the Zoological Gardens whether, indeed, he did simply care for her. How do you like the story?” “Go on,” said Ann Veronica, a little hoarsely, “tell me all of it.
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