Left alone with Edgeworth Bess, Jack burst into a loud laugh of exultation. For a while they stood there, silent, motionless, staring at the doorway where still a few strings of the bamboo curtain swayed and twisted, agitated by the Wastrel's passage. As Leonardo had himself pronounced, who better than a mountebank to teach of the perils awaiting the unwary? Who better than a wastrel to demonstrate the worth of thrift? And who could instruct better in the matter of affections than one who had thrown them away? ‘If he had loved me,’ she said, in the flat tone she had learned to use to conceal her vulnerable heart, ‘he would have left me at Remenham House to live a life of an English lady. Jack had brought away the bunch of keys which he had taken from Quilt Arnold, but, none of them would open it. God would have taken mercy on her baby, seeing that she had already had too much pain and that he had taken her beloved mother. WARD, LOCK & CO. You are not playing to-night, are you?” “Not to-night,” she answered. No! That was impossible.
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