Jack Kimble stiffened, looking at his interrogator with wary anger in his face. Young, not much older than she was: she was twenty and he was possibly twenty-four. " "I wish you hadn't mentioned her," said Jack, in a broken voice, while his whole frame shook with emotion. She had been in the drawing-room for a few minutes before the gong had sounded, and had chattered gaily to every one. He took a sip of punch and commenced his relation. “I don’t know. He has been bottling it up all the way from West Kensington. Nor my grandfathers both.
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