” “Why?” she asked. He was bringing the sing-song girl to the hotel! The strange cortège presently vanished below the window-sill. Her heart was beating with quite unaccustomed vigour, her hands were hot, she was conscious of a warmth in her blood which the summer sunshine was scarcely responsible for. His only warning was a gleam of silver in the faint spill of light from the house above. Indeed, it seemed inevitable that she must clear it up with his assistance, or not at all. And who is the man you are not allowed to marry? Valade, perhaps?’ ‘Dieu du ciel,’ exclaimed the girl, jumping up. "My portrait!" echoed Jack.
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