"You poor child!" said Prudence. "My horse has had a fall," replied Jack, assuming to perfection—for he was a capital mimic,—the tones of Quilt Arnold. Luckily, Sir James was so much engrossed by his own task, that both the remark and gesture escaped him. The key is in my trousers. By a miracle, he averted its path, his hold on the girl’s mouth shifting fast to grasp her wrist. “MY DEAR VERONICA,—Your aunt tells me you have involved yourself in some arrangement with the Widgett girls about a Fancy Dress Ball in London. “Oh, Lucy. I wasn’t. But I'll not believe it of you. ‘For kissing you, or for not meaning to do so?’ ‘Imbecile,’ exclaimed Melusine impatiently. She obeyed, extending her arm. .
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