IX. "Oh! nothin' partickler—mere curossity," replied Terence. His clothes were smartly pressed, his linen white, his jaws cleanly shaven; but the day would come when he would grow indifferent to bodily cleanliness. Seeing provisions in the window, Jack ventured in and bought a loaf. The young man looked at her. ’ ‘Are you off your head? Think I don’t know you’re up to some mischief or other?’ Melusine feigned innocence. He parried without apparent effort. But what are you doing here?” “Old Père Runeval met me on your doorstep, and he would not let me go. " "Who told you this is his portrait?" demanded Trenchard.
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