‘First I must see Jacques, and—’ ‘No need for that,’ intervened Roding, grasping her arm and trying to drag her to the door. It was easy to discover that he was a knave, but equally easy to perceive that he was a pleasant fellow; a combination of qualities by no means of rare occurrence. He continued tenderly, almost affectionately. She flew up from her stool and faced the door. Overjoyed beyond measure at having vanquished this apparently-insurmountable obstacle, Jack darted through the door. Left to himself, he took a survey of the room, and his heart leaped as he beheld over the, chimney-piece, a portrait of himself. Wild's. He stood transfixed.
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