'" "Let me see," cried Jack, snatching the paper, and eagerly perusing the advertisement. "Your faults were the faults of circumstances. Wish SHE”—he indicated Miss Klegg’s back with a nod—“was at the bottom of the sea. ’ He sighed. ‘Not here. ‘Truth is, it’s Gerald who’s put me in the devil’s own temper, ma’am. She fixed her eyes upon it and ran, keeping always as far as possible in the shadow of the hedge, gazing fearfully every now and then down along the valley for the white smoke of the train.
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