"Oh! nothin' partickler—mere curossity," replied Terence. She drew a breath, and sighed it out. But Jack did not heed them. “It’s no sort of good, Ann Veronica, pretending one does believe when one doesn’t. Valade, who was standing by her chair, glancing around the packed pink-papered saloon with a heavy frown on his face, was a thickset man of coarse, reddened feature, with a discontented air. Wood fared still worse. I wonder,” he added, after a moment’s pause, “whether you ever realize how young you are. Don’t stand gawping, man. She was quite oblivious to the sensation she had created.
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