She was no longer there. She had but to choose. “Only four spoonsful left,” she declared briskly, “and your turn to buy the next pound, Sydney. I consider even now that the present colour is far less becoming. Yours?" The stranger hesitated. He could have her in the car but she preferred a more private setting. Your laugh reminds me of—of——" "Whose, Sir?" demanded Jackson, becoming suddenly grave. So often as she had herself manipulated a dagger, she could not mistake the shape that pressured across her chest, or the sharp point that dug below her bosom. This is your moment. Had she expected to wed Valade herself? Had the fellow broken a vow of betrothal, or abandoned her? He must find out more.
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