On the same peg and evidently belonging to it was a black velvet Zouave jacket. Ruth hugged the envelope and McClintock, with the end of a burnt match, drew a cabalistic sign. "I hope you don't imagine anything has gone wrong, Sir. "In spots you are a thoroughbred; but here's a black mark on your ticket, lad. ” “I think so,” said Ann Veronica, and colored. At the same time he comprehended that she was as pure and lovely as the white orchid of Borneo and that she did not carry that ridiculous shield called false modesty. "He will live," answered Ruth. ’ Jack blinked at her. CHAPTER VIII.
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