"Stolen by a gipsy when scarcely five years old, Constance Trenchard, after various vicissitudes, was carried to London, where she lived in great poverty, with the dregs of society. It had showed up at an auction at Sotheby’s after someone had sold it. “Diedermayer’s a kiss-ass. I’m glad you could come. It is not well that a daughter should talk to her father as Ruth talked to hers that day. ’ ‘Oh, don’t you?’ Gerald said grimly. Ain't you, Jacky darling?" "Not quite, Poll," returned Mr. " And, as if to make the moral more obvious, a dirty pack of cards was scattered, underneath, upon the sawdust. " CHAPTER VI.
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