While he was thus occupied, Thames, prompted by an unaccountable feeling of curiosity, took up the penknife which the other had just used, and examined the haft. “MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation. I must go and dress at once. "But, where's the strange gentleman I saw under the table?" "Under the table!" echoed Blueskin, winking at Jack. " "It's all up," muttered Thames. “It couldn’t be. There was a concerted gasp of shock from both the black-garbed lad and the coachman. Anyhow he confessed that he was a fraud. She crooked her finger. “I wonder if I’ve been properly brought up. One keeps rules in order to be one’s self.
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