It isn’t illusions—for us. Words of encouragement and sympathy were addressed to Jack, who, as he looked around, beheld many a friendly glance fixed upon him. ‘Leonardo again,’ he growled. "I guess who you mean," rejoined Shotbolt. Carefully abstaining from thrusting against each other, Ann Veronica and her father began an absurdly desperate struggle, the one to open the door, the other to keep it fastened. Heaven knows what dim and tawdry conceptions of passion and desire were in that blond cranium, what romance-begotten dreams of intrigue and adventure! but they sufficed, when presently Ann Veronica went out into the darkling street again, to inspire a flitting, dogged pursuit, idiotic, exasperating, indecent. Then the dagger’s point came in a whirling arc towards his face. The lighting-up pierced the obscurity of the box, and Ramage stopped his urgent flow of words abruptly and sat back. Her eyes were soft and blue, arched over by dark brows, and fringed by long silken lashes. He turned, expecting to see his wife. The three of them laughed joyously. ‘I may have been only a secretary, but times are changing.
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