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Raising the bowl in his right hand, Jack glanced towards the balcony, in which the group of ladies were seated, and begged to drink their healths; he then turned to Kneebone and the others, who extended their hands towards him, and raised it to his lips. And then, as she stood there, with the fragments of the torn canvas at her feet, some even caught upon her skirt, the door was thrown open, and a girl entered humming a light tune. ‘I suppose he isn’t this Leonardo you spoke of?’ ‘Certainly he is not Leonardo. ” She passed out without reply. But—it’s one of the things I’ve just been thinking over. The two sisters were very fond of one another, I believe.
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