My thanks, by the by. . . I don’t care if you never tell me any of your secrets. ” “It was an inspiration—your speaking to him?” “I felt impudent. No blowzy barmaids for him to-day: an American bar-keep to whom he could tell his troubles and receive the proper meed of sympathy. ’ ‘Well, I do now,’ Lucilla said firmly, and turned back to Melusine. She recoiled. Well, you shall know. That night a grave was dug in Willesden churchyard, next to that in which Mrs. Jack seemed glad enough to rest, his back against the wall, and closed his eyes.
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