Whence she came,—who she was,—and what she wanted,—were questions which naturally suggested themselves to Blueskin, and he was about to seek for some explanation, when his curiosity was checked by a gesture of silence from the lady. And all to satisfy a succession of rapacious lightskirts. "As long as I live, I'll never forget that dress of hers," Prudence declared. A crumpled-up newspaper thrown from the gallery hit her upon the cheek. After all, his was a pleasant face, and a pleasant voice, and very likely Annabel had behaved badly. It was a duel, you understand, and that is not permitted.
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