"A man has insulted me—he has been following me about and tried to get into conversation with me."
"Dear me," said Septimus. "What shall I do? Shall I shoot him?"
"Don't be silly," she said seriously. "It's serious. I'd be glad if you'd kindly walk up and down a little with me."
"With pleasure." They strolled away together. "But I am serious. If you wanted me to shoot him I'd do it. I'd do anything in the world for you. I've got a revolver in my room."
She laughed, disclaiming desire for supreme vengeance.
"I only want to show the wretch that I am not a helpless woman," she observed, with the bewildering illogic of the sex. And as she passed by the offender she smiled down at her companion with all the sweetness of intimacy and asked him why he carried a revolver. She did not point the offender out, be it remarked, to the bloodthirsty Septimus.
"It belongs to Wiggleswick," he replied in answer to her question. "I promised to take care of it for him."
"What does Wiggleswick do when you are away?"
"He reads the police reports. I take in Reynolds and the News of the World and the illustrated Police News for him, and he cuts them out and gums them in a scrap book. But I think I'm happier without Wiggleswick. He interferes with my guns."
"By the way," said Zora, "you talked about guns the other evening. What have you got to do with guns?"