" "Won't you go?" cried Jack passionately. A beachcomber in embryo, and she had lent a hand through habit as much as through pity. It was very pretty and very dainty while it lasted, but we played it with our eyes open, and we perfectly understood the game—both of us. They laughed and talked and stared about them. “Then—then we can talk things out. “Nor am I going to,” she answered, smiling. He knew not what to say, or what to do; and his confusion was increased by the threatening gestures and furious looks of the ruffians in his immediate vicinity.
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