. ” “Nor I,” said Ann Veronica. “We can be alone?” She inquired. For what could be more ironical than for Howard Spurlock to see himself grow famous under the name of Taber? The ambrosia of which he had so happily dreamt!—and this gall and wormwood! He stood up and rapped his pipe on the rail. “How could I, when your sister sings now at the ‘Unusual’ every night and the name ‘Alcide’ flaunts from every placard in London?” “The likeness between us,” she said, “before I began to disfigure myself with rouge and ill-dressed hair, was remarkable. If you attempt to play the traitor, you will do so at the hazard of your life. Are you sure what it is you want of me?” “I want you. .
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