Chapter XVI THE DISCOMFITURE OF SIR JOHN Sir John looked from one to the other of the two sisters. Anna sprang to her feet and made for the dressing-room door. Pull over there. It was a large, littered, self-forgetful apartment, decorated with unframed charcoal sketches by various incipient masters; and an open bookcase, surmounted by plaster casts and the half of a human skull, displayed an odd miscellany of books—Shaw and Swinburne, Tom Jones, Fabian Essays, Pope and Dumas, cheek by jowl. ” “It is a conspiracy,” she exclaimed. To—to find myself. Overjoyed beyond measure at having vanquished this apparently-insurmountable obstacle, Jack darted through the door.
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