These thoughts, however, came to a broken end. A murmur ran through the assemblage, by several of whom Jack was recognised. She tried surreptitiously to reach her own dagger, in its cunning hiding place in her petticoat. " "No—no," laughed Jack. Great vistas of history opened, and she and her aunt were near reverting to the primitive and passionate and entirely indecorous arboreal—were swinging from branches by the arms, and really going on quite dreadfully—when their arrival at the Palsworthys’ happily checked this play of fancy, and brought Ann Veronica back to the exigencies of the wrappered life again. He wriggled underneath her heaving body, pinned like an insect. Impassive by nature and training, he was conscious to-night of a strange sense of excitement, of exhilaration tempered by a dull background of disappointment. . “What is the exact force of a motif?” she asked at random. They stood for a moment in the passage and listened. ” “It is hard to be distant from your own mother.
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