Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. There’d only be endless rows if I was at home. After all, he had the means of setting this tormenting doubt at rest. Wood, with a candle in his hand, which Jack instantly blew out, and darted down stairs. “See you to-night, I suppose?” He sauntered off. Her aunt was making herself cuffs out of little slips of insertion under the newly lit lamp. Planting his knee against her side, he pulled her towards him with one hand, while with the other he sought his knife.
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