A quick flush stained her cheeks. Your laugh reminds me of—of——" "Whose, Sir?" demanded Jackson, becoming suddenly grave. "I had no hand in the affair," replied Jackson, bluntly; "but I know those who had; and could bring forward evidence, if you require it. Perhaps Ferringhall has pensioned her off. A broken laugh followed the action. One called her very distinctly “My dear!” Two secretarial posts did indeed seem to offer themselves in which, at least, there was no specific exclusion of womanhood; one was under a Radical Member of Parliament, and the other under a Harley Street doctor, and both men declined her proffered services with the utmost civility and admiration and terror. She was aware of people—her aunt, her father, her fellow-students, friends, and neighbors— moving about outside this glowing secret, very much as an actor is aware of the dim audience beyond the barrier of the footlights. ‘She would say, espéce de diable, this Melusine.
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