He was standing by, rating her ladyship,—who can scarcely stir from the sofa,—while I was packing up her jewels in the case, and I observed that she tried to hide a small casket from him. Are you satisfied?’ Grudgingly, Jack Kimble took back the coins. The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes. I hate myself!” She collapsed to the floor, sobbing. I had to go at a moment’s notice. “And where,” he asked, “are my rivals?” “Deserters,” she answered, laughing.
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