“I thought you weren’t getting along so well with your mother these days. She frowned and gripped her hands about her knees very tightly. And I passed myself off as Meysey Hill, and since—then—I haven’t had a minute’s peace. He unlocked himself from her embrace. I’m sorry to disappoint you. That is where life takes advantage of youth. But this was not a season in which to be needlessly scrupulous. I—listen. This farewell had been particularly distasteful to him. There, that sounds frightfully involved, doesn’t it, but perhaps you can make out what I mean. I shall barely be in time for the theatre. "To paint your portrait," answered the jailer. "I assure you, Sir, when I left him an hour ago, it was locked.
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