‘Sir?’ Hilary threw a brief glance at Trodger, and quickly returned his intent gaze to the Frenchman, who had halted once more, and stood as if thinking deeply. "I've done nothing to offend you," persisted Jack. Your laugh reminds me of—of——" "Whose, Sir?" demanded Jackson, becoming suddenly grave. Warm life was behind that always, even if it slept. Gay, was a stout, good-looking, good-humoured man, about thirty-six, with a dark complexion, an oval face, fine black eyes, full of fire and sensibility, and twinkling with roguish humour—an expression fully borne out by the mouth, which had a very shrewd and sarcastic curl.
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