"You are complimentary, Sir Rowland," returned the other, with a grim smile. ” “No you’re not. Actually, he had come all this distance simply to fulfil a certain clause in his contract with Fate, to be in Canton on this particular day. Upon a table, where they had been hastily deposited, on the intelligence of Darrell's accident, lay a pair of pink kid gloves, bordered with lace, and an enormous fan; the latter, when opened, represented the metamorphosis and death of Actæon. At least that, I think, is what makes a clever woman’s independent career so much more difficult than a clever man’s. He saw that she was tense. Don't be afraid—I won't hurt you. "Her blood be upon her own head, then," replied Rowland, sternly. She veiled her emotion by taking off his overcoat.
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