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Fortescue rambled round the garden with soft, propitiatory steps, the Corinthian nose upraised and his hands behind his back, pausing to look long and hard at the fruit-trees against the wall. CHAPTER VIII. ‘First I must see Jacques, and—’ ‘No need for that,’ intervened Roding, grasping her arm and trying to drag her to the door. Foolish compliments were tossed about like confetti. “It seems—It’s interesting. Which, let me assure you, villain, will not be so far away. The change will come to-day.
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