The girl who had just left the room was as great a mystery to him now as on the afternoon when he had met her in Piccadilly and taken her to tea. "Does your father doubt it? Speak! tell me!" Winifred made no answer. She mounted the stairs of the theatrical agent’s office with very much less than her usual buoyancy, nor did she find much encouragement in the general appearance of the room into which she was shown. ’ ‘Miss?’ gaped the soldier. You are an artist by the Divine right of birth, but whatever form of expression may come to you at some time it will not be painting. "You are no longer Thames Darrell," she said, casting her eyes rapidly over it; "but the Marquis de Chatillon. "But are you really there?" "No, I'm here," answered Jack, leaping down. ” She made her glasses glint. The blue jowl, the fat-lidded eyes—now merry, now alert, now tungsten hard—the bullet head, the pudgy fingers and the square-toed shoes were all in conformation with the doctor's olden mental picture.
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