The theme was a masquerade. “Oh, Michelle, I’m such a miserable fool. He cocked an eyebrow. It's a mighty quare 'un, though. She was not very clear about the position and duties of a chorus-girl, but it certainly had the air of being a last desperate resort. “Anna,” she cried, “you must believe me. In their happiest times, he was the most faithful and devoted of husbands. Could you come to tea at my rooms one afternoon, or would you dine with me somewhere, and do a theatre? We could have a private room, of course, if you do not wish to be seen about London, and a box at the theatre. After all, where prayer fails, a pistol is bound to succeed.
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