No, you don’t!” Ennison had moved stealthily a little nearer to him, and looked suddenly into the dark muzzle of the revolver. “Bohemianism is the least understood word ever coined. In a side-glance—for the floor was variously encumbered with overturned objects—he saw one of his paper weights, a coloured glass ball such as McClintock used in trade. Living, he knew that he would never send that letter. ‘Me, I am Mademoiselle Charvill, the granddaughter of Monsieur Jar-vis Re-men-ham. “I believe,” he said slowly, “that I shall do best to throw myself upon your consideration and tell you the truth. “What is the good of pretending?” she said. “I will believe you.
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