“John,” she said, “I can spare you that question. Stay! I'll go myself. "What poet was that?" "Stevenson. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. "Stay!" cried Wood, "this is a most perplexing business—if you really are privy to the affair——" "We'll talk of it to-morrow, Sir," returned Jackson, cutting him short. ’ ‘You have seen him? Exactement. Every one turned to her in astonishment. He was alert, well-groomed, and yet—perhaps in contrast with the more volatile French type—there was a suggestion of weight about him, not to say heaviness. I do wish you could come and dine with us some evening. “Let’s go. James Boyle O'Higgins knew little or nothing of the South Seas, but he knew human beings, all colours.
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