Billie, now in possession of
the facts, had examined them and come to the conclusion that Sam had
played a practical joke on her, and she was a girl who strongly
disapproved of practical humor at her expense.
"That morning I met you at Sir Mallaby's office, Mr. Peters," she said
in a frosty voice, "Mr. Marlowe had just finished telling me a long and
convincing story to the effect that you were madly in love with a Miss
Milliken, who had jilted you, and that this had driven you off your
head, and that you spent your time going about with a pistol, trying to
shoot every red-haired woman you saw, because you thought they were
Miss Milliken. Naturally, when you came in and called me Miss Milliken,
and brandished a revolver, I was very frightened. I thought it would be
useless to tell you that I wasn't Miss Milliken, so I tried to persuade
you that I was, and hadn't jilted you after all."
"Good gracious!" said Mr. Peters, vastly relieved; and yet--for always
there is bitter mixed with the sweet--a shade disappointed.
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