Rising quickly, he took it up and examined it. It was completely
loaded.

"She really is desperate!" He suddenly chilled through and through.
"She got this for me."

He heard a step in the rear, and, quickly dropping the revolver into
his coat pocket, he stood expectantly waiting. She was coming. Her
tread alone betrayed excitement. The next instant she stood before
him. She was a girl under twenty-two, a pretty brunette, with Italian
cast of features, and a pair of bright, dark eyes, now ablaze with
fury.

"So you are here at last?" she panted, pushing the door to and leaning
against it.

"Yes, Saunders gave me your letter yesterday," he answered.

"I thought it would bring you." Her pretty lips were parted, the lower
hung quivering. "If you hadn't come right away you would have
regretted it to the last day of your life--huh! and that might not
have been very far off, either."

"I did not like the--the tone of your letter, Marie." He was trying to
be firm. "You see, you--"

"Didn't like it? Pooh!" she broke in. "Do you think I care a snap what
you like or don't like? You've got to settle with me, and quick, too,
for something you did--"