Suddenly Billie had an inspiration. It was hopeless, she knew, to try to convince this poor demented creature, obsessed with his idée fixe, that she was not Miss Milliken. Denial would be a waste of time, and might even infuriate him into precipitating the tragedy. It was imperative that she should humour him. And, while she was humouring him, it suddenly occurred to her, why not do it thoroughly?
“Mr. Peters,” she cried, “you are quite mistaken!”
“I beg your pardon,” said Jno. Peters, with not a little asperity. “Nothing of the kind!”
“You are!”
“I assure you I am not. Quickness in the draw is essential....”
“You have been misinformed.”
“Well, I had it direct from the man at the Rupert Street range,” said Mr. Peters stiffly. “And if you have ever seen a picture called ‘Two-Gun Thomas’....”
“Mr. Peters,” cried Billie desperately. He was making her head swim with his meaningless ravings. “Mr. Peters, hear me! I am not married to a man at Ealing West!”
Mr. Peters betrayed no excitement at the information. This girl seemed for some reason to consider her situation an extraordinary one, but many women, he was aware, were in a similar position. In fact, he could not at the moment think of any of his feminine acquaintances who were married to men at Ealing West.
“Indeed?” he said politely.