" "This is folly," cried Jack, controlling himself by a powerful effort. And it is your own fault that your husband dallies with me. Don't be afraid, man,—off with it. I was in Lancashire, at our family seat, at the time you mention. The thought allured him, and therein lay the danger. Once he suggested they should go to a music-hall and see a wonderful new dancer, but Ann Veronica did not feel she cared to see a new dancer. \"I told you he likes you!\" She whispered hotly into Lucy's ear. The arrangement had been made by the town matchmaker, a frightening old oak of a man. Nor had Jack been idle all this time. Spurling, for so was she named, had a warm nut-brown complexion, almost as dark as a Creole; and a moustache on her upper lip, that would have done no discredit to the oldest dragoon in the King's service. Are you satisfied?’ Grudgingly, Jack Kimble took back the coins.
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