The by now familiar dramatic sigh came. “Queer letters he writes,” she said. 1. " "Perhaps not," replied Jack, to whom an idea had suddenly occurred. . "Well, Lady Trafford," he said, fixing a severe look upon her. She stared out of the paned glass window, watching the trees being blown bare by the gale force. ‘But you said—’ Gerald tutted. ‘Sergeant Trodger is who I am. Mother and Son XI. Even now I do not understand. She sat perfectly still, however. I know London better than you, and I have had to earn my own living.
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