She was practically destitute of jewellery. She was fine and tender. “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that. She had, poor inexperienced fool, given herself away. She saw herself begin a slow, sinuous dance: and stop suddenly in the middle of a figure, conscious that the dance was not impromptu, her own, but native—the same dance she had quitted but a few minutes gone. Ennison. Do you recall the night she showed you the face in the locket? Do you remember how she said—'If only my mother had lived'? Did you ever see anything more tender or beautiful?" "I remember. "Well, I've seen many a gallant fellow in my time, Mr. 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. ” She said. ’ ‘What heir?’ ‘Exactly.
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