There were one or two bitter moments in his life when he had been made to feel that gentility laid on with a brush may sometimes crack and show weak places—that deportment and breeding are after all things apart. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. Her feathered hat fell from her head and down her back, and she felt fingers writhing in the mass of her hair and caressing the flesh of her neck beneath so that she shivered uncontrollably. Her brown curls were pulled tight in a severe chignon. " "Peace!" retorted Jack, with increased bitterness. A little table covered with a damask cloth was dragged out. ‘You wish a reason for jealousy? Eh bien, you may have it. Besides, my husband has shares in Sir John’s company.
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