" As Jack made no reply, the woman proceeded. Jack affected to close the door, but left it slightly ajar. ‘Did she call you that?’ asked Lucilla, amused. “—and your aunt—” For a time he searched for the mot juste. T. We were to ransom you, then we would fake your death, play as if the kidnappers had executed you. Could you come to tea at my rooms one afternoon, or would you dine with me somewhere, and do a theatre? We could have a private room, of course, if you do not wish to be seen about London, and a box at the theatre. Gin is the poor man's friend,—his sole set-off against the rich man's luxury. “You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated.
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