Gerald lost his head. "My horse has had a fall," replied Jack, assuming to perfection—for he was a capital mimic,—the tones of Quilt Arnold. At sight of his wan features, she forgot the urgency of her need for a moment, and fell to her knees at his bedside, placing her hands on his slack ones where they lay on the soiled coverlet. What had actually beaten him was not to have known if someone had picked up his trail. A distant suggestion of chalets and a glimpse of the road set them talking for a time of the world they had left behind. Considering his convictions he felt that his remark was a generous one.
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