Aliva Trencher. When he reached the happy ending, he waited. The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense. A black silk furbelowed scarf covered her shoulders; and over the kincob gown hung a yellow satin apron, trimmed with white Persian. Yet he’s been here for six years, and he’s as much a fixture as that sham mahogany sideboard. The foremost, tall, clean-shaven, perfectly groomed, half extended his hand with a smile of recognition. "What motive have you for concealment?" he demanded. Out of an old family album: here was the very comparison that had eluded him. "How, Sir?" "Except by adoption. " "There you're wrong, Mr. ’ ‘I do. " O'Higgins grinned. " "Yes, I will," replied Jack sullenly, "if you beat me in that way. No mother would have sent her daughter into the world with such a wardrobe.
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