"Aha!" exclaimed Jack, with a roguish wink, "I've caught you,—have I?" The carpenter's daughter was fair and free— Fair, and fickle, and false, was she! She slighted the journeyman, (meaning me!) And smiled on a gallant of high degree. She turned into the study, sat down at the table and fingered the pencils, curiously stirred. She propped a pillow against his padded headboard and sat herself into a stiff upright position, legs expertly crossed. “My name is Anna Pellissier, sometimes called Annabel. She had not seen Ramage for ten or eleven days, and she was quite ready for a gossip with him. "Well, Lady Trafford," he said, fixing a severe look upon her. “Well,” she admitted. It was Annabel’s. She had a vision of policemen, reproving magistrates, a crowded court, public disgrace. Jack may be capable of much that is wicked, but he would never lift his hand against his friend,—of that I am assured.
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