She became aware that at regular intervals a light flashed upon her face and a bodiless eye regarded her, and this, as the night wore on, became a torment. “What are your objections?” she said. There's a friend of Sir James—a young man, an engraver of masquerade tickets and caricatures,—his name I believe is Hogarth. But here the resemblance stopped. ‘What, miss?’ asked Jack Kimble from behind her. What do you mean by it, eh?’ ‘But I did not send it to you,’ Melusine rejoined instantly. ’ ‘Probably not.
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