'
'A thousand thanks. I know now upon what ground I stand. I have to save
an innocent, high-bred girl from the clutches of a consummate
scoundrel.'
'Shoot him, and shoot her, too, if there's no better way of saving her.
It will be an act of mercy,' said Mr. Fitzpatrick, without hesitation.
CHAPTER XLII.
'SHALL IT BE?'
While Lord Hartfield sat in his friend's office in Great George Street
reading the life story of Gomez de Montesma, told with the cruel
precision and the unvarnished language of a criminal indictment, the
hero of that history was gliding round the spacious ballroom of the
Cowes Club, with Lady Lesbia Haselden's dark-brown head almost reclining
on his shoulder, her violet eyes looking up at his every now and then,
shyly, entrancingly, as he bent his head to talk to her.
The Squadron Ball was in full swing between midnight and the first hour
of morning. The flowers had not lost their freshness, the odours of dust
and feverish human breath had not yet polluted the atmosphere. The
windows were open to the purple night, the purple sea.
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