" "Who are you!" demanded the fugitive, sternly. Looked all over that dratted convent of yours—or at least Trodger and the men did so—but no sign of them. He was reaching wearily for some kind of buffer to his harrying conscience. Pramlay received them in the pretty chintz drawing-room, which opened by French windows on the trim garden, with its croquet lawn, its tennis-net in the middle distance, and its remote rose alley lined with smart dahlias and flaming sunflowers. Clotilde pried Fritz from Lucy’s left leg where he was clinging. “I expected to stay with a relation, but I found that their arrangements did not allow of it. ‘Don’t involve me in your lover’s tiff. Presently McClintock came in. Her back arched and she felt herself instinctively sinking into him. After all, life had still its pulsations. During the narration Jack's features lighted up, and an expression, which would have been in vain looked for in repose, was instantly caught and depicted by the skilful artist.
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