Mrs. Fly! fly!" "Do not think of me, mother, but of yourself," cried Jack, in an agony of tears. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. Now, in her old place, she was doing her best thoroughly to enjoy a most indifferent dinner. Spurlock had better stick to the bungalow. They’ve just got to keep white. The hansom sped through the crowded streets. ’ The lady’s gaze dwelled thoughtfully on the half-drawn sword and then came up to meet his, an odd look in her eyes. The colouring was green and white, with softly shaded electric lights, an alcove bedstead, which was a miracle of daintiness, white furniture, and a long low dressing-table littered all over with a multitude of daintily fashioned toilet appliances. “We are both of us trenching upon forbidden ground,” she said.
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