“We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other. He smothered a laugh. Upon a table, where they had been hastily deposited, on the intelligence of Darrell's accident, lay a pair of pink kid gloves, bordered with lace, and an enormous fan; the latter, when opened, represented the metamorphosis and death of Actæon. Their conversation was conducted in the flash language, and, though unintelligible to Wood, was easily comprehended by this companion, who learnt, to her dismay, that the wounded man had received his hurt from her son, whose courage and dexterity formed the present subject of their discourse. ” “They’re back together again?” Lucy felt her heart sink into the pit of her stomach. “No, he wouldn’t come here of all places—just now. “It is in your hands from now on, Shar.
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