Jack's complexion was that of a gipsy; Darrell's as fresh and bright as a rose. He had not proceeded far when he was alarmed by the tramp of a horse, which seemed to be rapidly approaching, and he had scarcely time to leap the hedge and conceal himself behind a tree, when a tall man, enveloped in an ample cloak, with his hat pulled over his brows, rode by at full speed. ‘Would you like me to enquire for your mystery lady, Gerald? I know the Comte and Comtesse de St Erme quite well. He touched her hand, soft and cool to his fingers—she turned at once to look at him. And you promised to tell me. She described it so vividly. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. It is my business to know most people.
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