She looked quickly from side to side and one hand clutched at her breast convulsively, clutched the cloth ... and something that was resting within her waist. She started and with a quick movement unbuttoned the garment at her bosom, reached in and drew out an automatic pistol. "Ned, don't force me!" she said, slowly, voice unsteady. The man halted, hesitated, backed away, both hands half raised. "Ann, you wouldn't shoot me!" he whispered. "You said ... you'd strangle me, Ned,"--leaning against the wall for support, because weakness had swept over her. Lytton drew a hand across his eyes. He trembled visibly. "But ... I was mad, Ann," he stammered. "I was crazy; I wouldn't...." Her hands dropped to her sides and she turned her face from him, shutting her eyes and frowning at the helplessness that came over her with the excitement and the fear of a physical encounter. She could brave any moral clash, but her body was a woman's body, her strength a woman's strength, and now, when she faced disaster, her muscles failed her. Ned comprehended. He stepped quickly to her side, reached to the hand that held the weapon, fastened on it and with a wrench, jerked it free from her limp grasp. "You would, would you?" he muttered, his old malevolence returning with assurance that the woman could no longer defend herself. "This! Where did you get it?"--surveying the weapon. "It's Bayard's." "He gave it to you to use on me?"--with a short laugh. The woman shook her head wearily. "You refuse to understand anything," she responded. "He gave it to me to protect you from himself." He stood looking at her, revolving that assertion quickly in his mind, feeling for the first time that his command over the situation was good only so long as they were alone. Before his suddenly rising fear of Bruce Bayard his bitterness retreated. "Well, we'll quit this place," he said with a swagger. "We'll clear out, you and I.... I've had enough of this damned treachery; trying to steal you, my wife. I might have known. I told him his foot would slip!" Ann scarcely heard. She was possessed by a queer lethargy. She wanted to rest, to be quiet, to be left alone, yet she knew that much remained to be endured. She had never rebelled before; she had always compromised and she felt that after her great demonstration of self-sufficiency nothing could matter a great deal. Ned had said that they would quit this place. She had no idea of resisting, of even arguing. It was easier to go, to delay a further break, for their journey would not be far, she felt, nor would she be with her husband long. Bayard would come somehow; he had come when she was in danger before, and now that which menaced her was of much less consequence. Why fear? She stooped to pick up a book that had been thrown to the floor when the table overturned. "Leave that alone!" he ordered.