How she had fought her eagerness in the beginning, lest it reveal her ignorance of the marvels of mankind! The terror and ecstasy of that night in Singapore— the first city she had ever seen! There was still the impression that something akin to a miracle had piloted her successfully from one ordeal to another. How Jack Sheppard's Portrait was painted. Pure luck! If the boy had grown a moustache or a beard, a needle in the haystack would have been soft work. He had the same dark eyes, though lighted by a fierce flame; the same sallow complexion; the same tall, thin figure, and majestic demeanour; the same proud cast of features. He stopped abruptly before the apparently incurious Chinaman. CHAPTER XII. But it's French manners, I suppose.
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