The two friends contrasted strikingly with each other. ’ Amusement flickered in Gerald’s breast. “Wild horses—not if they have all the mounted police in London—shan’t keep me out. As a rule, Courtlaw told her softly, he talked right and left, and to everybody throughout the whole of the meal—tonight he was almost silent, and seemed to devote his whole attention to staring at Anna. It would have given me intense satisfaction to have been able to catch a French spy. On the other a wretched engraving of the Chevalier de Saint George, or, as he was styled in the label attached to the portrait, James the Third, raised a suspicion that the inmate of the house was not altogether free from some tincture of Jacobitism. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. Mr. Look in the small hide-bound book that he keeps in his boot.
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