Your laugh reminds me of—of——" "Whose, Sir?" demanded Jackson, becoming suddenly grave. ’ ‘What? But—’ ‘Precisely, Hilary. "A secret is too valuable a commodity to be thrown away. " "Never," echoed Smith, emphatically, "upon my honour. Her fanciful imagination no longer drew pictures of the aunt in the doorway of a wooden house, her arms extended in welcome. You might even tire of me by then, you know. “Why not? Isn’t the whole thing a lie? Isn’t her reputation, this husband of hers, the ‘Alcide’ business, isn’t it all a cursed juggle? She hasn’t the right to do it.
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