If he had nothing to tell her, she had nothing to ask. “How have you been, my dear? Up to no good, I see. "And when I further tell you," continued Jack, "that, after yourself and my mother, I am the next heir to the estates of my grandfather, Sir Montacute Trenchard, you will perhaps own that my caution is sufficiently disinterested. Do you know, Ann Veronica, it is all a lie about your birth certificate; a forgery—and fooling at that. Besides, I'm afraid her simple honesty will spoil any invented yarn. My nerves were in rags. The one fault, indeed, of this school of fiction for him was that it had rather a light way with parental rights. We wore invisible chains and invisible blinkers.
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