Lady Trafford, supposed to be childless, broken in health and spirits, frail both in mind and body, is not likely to make another marriage. She was an indignant queen, no doubt she was alarmed and disgusted within limits; but she was highly excited, and there was something, some low adventurous strain in her being, some element, subtle at least if base, going about the rioting ways and crowded insurgent meeting-places of her mind declaring that the whole affair was after all—they are the only words that express it—a very great lark indeed. Sleep did not come easily, but eventually her mind stopped its chattering and she fell into a deep slumber. "Then you need no further information from me," rejoined Jackson, sternly. This was just what he needed. She feared he might take her tears as a sign of weakness. Prepared as he was for a dreadful shock, and with his nerves strung to endure it, Jack absolutely recoiled before the appalling object that met his gaze. But there was something else; and in his befogged mental state the comparison eluded him.
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