” She slipped on her cloak and stepped into the hansom with him. . “Touch a hair on his head and you will insure that I will never make love to you again. Gerald looked at it, then at her face. I have taken bullets and lived, and even a silver one wouldn’t do much. —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. “It was your own fault,” she exclaimed.
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