"So you're writing under a nom de plume, eh?" said McClintock, holding out the letter. Cursed him for his devotion that had made him come back for her, only to get himself shot by the fiendish Gosse. Stanley almost liked Ramage. She treaded down the hall swiftly but stopped abruptly when she heard a voice in back of her. —Sorry to quit your lord—worships, I mean,—I don't know what I mean," she added, a little confused, and dropping a profound curtsey to the disguised noblemen, each of whom replied by a bow, worthy, in her opinion, of a prince of the blood at the least,—"but I've a few necessary orders to give below.
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