Leave the room! leave the house, Sir! and enter it again at your peril. All three, then, burst into an immoderate fit of laughter. She put down the sketch-books and apparatus she had brought with her, pulled out her stool, and sat down. Wood was heard without, angrily demanding admittance. The salt air was fresher than the stale air in the manor. Jack Kimble stiffened, looking at his interrogator with wary anger in his face. “I will come—with pleasure,” she said, “if you will promise to treat me as a new acquaintance—not to refer to—Paris—at all. “But if you knew anything of that—” “I did. And go quickly that I may finish to search. It feels like too much gold-dust clutched in one’s hand.
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