Beyond was a chaise longue, covered with cushions and shawls laid anyhow across it, together with a discarded tapestry in the making, and a scattering of woollen threads about it. “Very,” said Mr. She walked straight across to the wardrobe and opened it. Your laugh reminds me of—of——" "Whose, Sir?" demanded Jackson, becoming suddenly grave. This done, he let himself carefully down by it, and having only a few feet to drop, alighted in safety. It made her laugh, which in turn made him laugh. On a pallet in one corner lay a pale emaciated female.
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