" The spinster had no retort to offer such directness. I am yours for the making over. Some one had once, in his hearing, called him a prig. There was no way of recalling the words; so she waited. ‘I told you I could handle her. His face, as he looked down where his hand sought for a weapon concealed in her petticoat, was so close that she could see only the line of his firm jaw, the drag of his powdered hair that drew it into the military pigtail, and the black ribbon that adorned it. This is her first adventure. “I wish,” she said, “that you would leave off looking at me as though I were something grisly. I'm entirely at your service. .
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