There was question in Gerald’s gaze as it met hers, and apology in his voice. It was hard to associate her with the stories which he and all Paris had heard of “Alcide. A man's laced hat,—whether adopted from the caprice of the moment, or habitually worn, we are unable to state,—cocked knowingly on her head, harmonized with her masculine appearance. “I am off to-night,” he said. Prepared as he was for a dreadful shock, and with his nerves strung to endure it, Jack absolutely recoiled before the appalling object that met his gaze. Jackson.
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