Your laugh reminds me of—of——" "Whose, Sir?" demanded Jackson, becoming suddenly grave. He pictured himself visiting the girl in this shabby little home of her aunt’s—she had told him that it was shabby—and he recalled that delicious little smile with which she would surely greet him, a smile which seemed to be a matter of the eyes as well as the lips. 47 was no more than a sort of railway compartment on the way to that. “Let’s go. “Show me around you house, John. Why don’t you wait and see if you do truly love me, then I can believe you? Then I know I am worth waiting for. ” “I am glad that you have a reasonable excuse for not having been to see me,” she said good-humouredly. ” She laughed gaily—and she had a way when she laughed of throwing back her head and showing her beautiful white teeth, so that mirth from her was a thing very much to be desired.
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