“Fred,” he said, “do you remember taking me to dinner at the ‘Ambassador’s,’ one evening last September, to meet a girl who was singing there? Hamilton and Drummond and his lot were with us. Her soul was full of the sense of disaster. He was standing by, rating her ladyship,—who can scarcely stir from the sofa,—while I was packing up her jewels in the case, and I observed that she tried to hide a small casket from him. Even our coarseness. ‘Indeed?’ Gerald grinned. Fast and Loose 415 XXIII. ‘You do not believe me?’ ‘I do not. Your history, your actions, nay, your very thoughts are better known to me than to your spiritual adviser. Not like my father.
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