" "All right, then. "How go you like your quarters, sauce-box?" asked Sharples, in a jeering tone. Now what? There was an interest, or why ask him who they were. It was a moment or two before Gerald realised that he could feel the fluttering of her pulse beneath the light touch he had on her wrist, and that her fingers were trembling in his. He was standing by, rating her ladyship,—who can scarcely stir from the sofa,—while I was packing up her jewels in the case, and I observed that she tried to hide a small casket from him. You are not my husband. It simply doesn’t count. “I shall not speak,” he said, “now or at any other time. She grasped at the right one, massaging where his grip had been and Gerald hoped he had not bruised her.
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