He was accompanied by a young man of about seven-and-twenty, who carried his easel, set it in its place, laid the canvass upon it, opened the paint box, took out the brushes and palette, and, in short, paid him the most assiduous attention. "Can I help you, Jack?" asked Thames, taking up a plane. I want to know—just as much as I can. “Lucy, have you noticed that I don’t even own a dog?” He spoke into her hair. “In self-defence I had to,” she answered. Then began expostulations, preluded by a telegram and headed by her aunt. I'm not quite such a greenhorn as Shotbolt, Jack, whatever you may think. She dropped the locket into its sweet hiding place.
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