Her neck was smeared with red and remorse flooded him. “Annabel?” he exclaimed. He flung Ruth aside, careless whether she fell or not. She took refuge in beating her pillow and inventing insulting epithets for herself. Not wisely but too well. Of course he hadn't played the game wisely. Furiously, she dashed his hands away. Your laugh reminds me of—of——" "Whose, Sir?" demanded Jackson, becoming suddenly grave. I had gone further than I meant to—with some Englishmen. An ill-lined purse is a poor recompense for the risk I have run.
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