"It's the boy's death-warrant," observed Jonathan, with a sinister smile. She slipped it calmly into her pocket. His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love. There was something markedly and deliberately liberal-minded in his manner in all their encounters. Before a word could be said, however, a slight noise was heard in the chimney, and Jack with his irons on descended from it. “Look at our affair,” he went on, looking up at her. “By Jove!” he exclaimed. “Quite different. I refused to sign a petition in his behalf to the Recorder; not from any ill-will to him, but because it was prepared by a person whom I particularly dislike— Captain Darrell. That night in Paris I saw on the bills ‘Fatal Motor Accidents.
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