Brendon,” he said, “may I rob you of your guest just for the drive home? I have only a few hours in England, and Miss Pellissier is an old friend. He then made a sort of running noose, passed it over her body, and taking firmly hold of the bars, prepared to guide her descent. He was not a sailor. He leaned forward to better drink her in. She saw herself begin a slow, sinuous dance: and stop suddenly in the middle of a figure, conscious that the dance was not impromptu, her own, but native—the same dance she had quitted but a few minutes gone. Her eyes flashed and she withdrew the dagger, pulling away from him.
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