Something in his smile, in the cynical suggestiveness of his deferential tone, maddened her. If we were to wait till a prig was rightfully nabbed, we might tarry till doomsday. “No!” she exclaimed. "I do," replied Jack, carelessly. Then she sat down—uninvited— and looked from one to the other curiously. She responded at once, rapping him on the knuckles with her fan. Although she had said a great deal when she heard about the shooting that had left poor Jack so badly injured. “I’m sorry, ma’am, to seem the cause of any disturbance, but this,” he pointed to Anna, “is my wife. Go up and get my daughter so we can have some homemade pie.
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