By this time, Jack's reputation had risen to such a height with the populace,—his exploits having become the universal theme of discourse, that the streets were almost impassable for the crowds collected to obtain a view of him. Instinct had forced her to create something out of rags to satisfy a mysterious craving. It suited him to dampen the spirits of any who sought to impose upon him, as these relics of the loathed family of Valade seemed like to do. But to live at peace with your neighbour…. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. ‘Forgive this intrusion, ma’am, I beg. I worshipped her and subdued myself.
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