’ Gerald moved to the long sofa, dusted it with elaborate care with one of its cushions, and with a gesture invited her to sit down. "You don't recollect me, I presume?" premised the stranger, taking a seat. ‘Hilary, thank God! Have you a pistol about you? Or better yet, your sword. Yes—as he would have liked. The drawers at the moment were too busy to attend to her, and she would have seized the opportunity of examining, unperceived, the assemblage within, through a little curtained window that overlooked the adjoining chamber, if an impediment had not existed in the shape of Baptist Kettleby, whose portly person entirely obscured the view.
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