Neither of them believed me. Where can we sit down and talk?” He led her across the room towards a window recess, in which a tall, fair young man was seated with an evening paper in his hand. How the deuce did I ever manage to father such a brainless nincompoop? A nun, for God’s sake! A confounded Catholic nun. “What made you marry him? What made you leave Paris without a word to any one? What made you and your sister exchange identities?” “There is one answer to all those questions, Nigel,” she said, with a nervous little shudder. There was so much to see, so much to do, that he became what he had once been normally, a lovable boy. Waving a white flag, naturally. There's a hundred pounds too much. He haunted a state between hectic dreaming and mild delirium, and she found herself talking aloud to him. "Curiosity, I suppose," returned Jack, carelessly.
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