Your laugh reminds me of—of——" "Whose, Sir?" demanded Jackson, becoming suddenly grave. She sat drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss what to say or do—afraid, curious, perplexed. She opened this and scrambled out—a thing she had not done for five long years of adolescence— upon the leaded space above the built-out bath-room on the first floor. Then he entered her passionately, riding her with exquisite precision. Anyhow, there was some pleasurable satisfaction in knowing where the quarry would be for the next three weeks. "Dear me!" she added, as she pledged the amorous woollen-draper, "what a beautiful ring that is. We have known men who have come here for no other purpose than to prove their unassailable virtue, who have strode into the arena of temptation, waving the—the what is it—the white flower of a blameless life, only to exchange it with marvellous facility for the violets of the Parisienne.
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