But through the fault of that pig, who dared to call himself Valade and masquerade in society under her birthright. He turned in at the club. The momentary alarm over, he threw a piece of-wash leather over a bureau, so as to deaden the sound, and instantly broke it open with a small crowbar. “What are you doing?” he asked. "Nor any one else, I suspect," answered Ireton, winking significantly. Was not Gerald altogether on her side? He was, even though he played games like an imbecile, a person tout à fait sympathique as she had discovered at the outset. CHAPTER IX.
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