He was standing by, rating her ladyship,—who can scarcely stir from the sofa,—while I was packing up her jewels in the case, and I observed that she tried to hide a small casket from him. “A serious question. This is simply a chapter of coincidences. ” “Thanks to me,” he repeated, puzzled. The lace was family lace, easily recognizable. “What do you think you are doing?” He asked. Mr. "I suppose I was mistaken," returned Gay. Jackson, gallantly. Ah! I shall never forget the figure Jack cut on that occasion. They might applaud, or object, or interfere, but the drama was her very own.
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