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" "What gives you that idea?" "Well, we could find no letter of credit, no letters, no labels in his clothes—not a single clew to his real identity. ” Lucy spoke up, “We used to call that ‘playing the coquette’. He drew her close up to him with a strong, steady pull. There was nothing in his manner to suggest the misery of the preceding night. The ambitions of his life, and they were many, seemed to lie far away, broken up dreams in some outside world where the way was rough and the sky always grey. “John, don’t!” she cried. CHAPTER XVII.
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