' It is signed JACK SHEPPARD. ” The lights sank, the prelude to the third act was beginning, the music rose and fell in crowded intimations of lovers separated—lovers separated with scars and memories between them, and the curtain went reefing up to display Tristan lying wounded on his couch and the shepherd crouching with his pipe. Still, one has to be reasonable. He kissed her ardently. The curtains which she had left drawn were open, and the electric lights were turned on. ‘Quite wrong, monsieur. ‘Nothing would do for her but to come here,’ grumbled Hilary, wiping his heated brow with a pocket handkerchief dragged from his immaculate white uniform breeches. It is so ridiculous. Certainly I never met him.
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