"Well, you women are forgiving creatures, I must say," observed Jonathan, sarcastically. The walls were pristine white and unmarked except for two sconces and a rather colorless Monet poster that had been framed in an expensive oak surround. “It is your sister and her husband,” he said. "You are arrested for high treason," rejoined Wild, presenting a pistol at his head, while he drew forth a parchment,—"here is my warrant. When were you last confessed, Sir Rowland?" he added abruptly. 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.
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