"What a very remarkable thing it is," he observed, applying to his snuff-box, "that Thames Darrell, whom we all supposed dead,"—Kneebone in his heart sincerely wished he had been so,—"should turn out to be alive after all. Could she go through with it? She must. She had asked to borrow his pencil out of dire necessity. Perhaps at the first blush—it strikes you as odd. Do I blow off the head of a man with whom I am in love?’ ‘That,’ said Gerald, disengaging his hand and at last drawing her into his arms, ‘deserves a reward. ‘I doubt it. Only a son’s another story. I am not going to be a chorus girl, or even a super.
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