She looked puzzled, pretty, and helpless.
"What is to be done, Jack ?" she said, laying her two hands on his breast and looking up pleadingly.
There was something in the man's clear-cut face--something beyond aristocratic repose--as he looked down into her eyes--something which Sir John Meredith might perhaps have liked to see there.

To all men comes, soon or late, the moment wherein their lives are suddenly thrust into their own hands to shape or spoil, to make or mar.

It seemed that where a clever man had failed, this light-hearted girl was about to succeed.

Two small clinging hands on Jack Meredith's breast had apparently wrought more than all Sir John's care and foresight.

At last the light of energy gleamed in Jack Meredith's lazy eyes.