Jack had never been a 'lady's man' precisely; but, as he used to say, comparing himself with me, 'he had a heart.' The annals of our Cambridge days were searched in vain.

I tried the country house in which he and I had spent a good many of our vacations.

Suddenly I remembered the reading-party in Devonshire--but no, she was dark.

Once Jack and I had a romantic adventure in Glencoe in which a lady and her daughter were concerned.

We tried to make the most of it; but in our hearts we knew, after we had seen her by the morning light, that the daughter was not beautiful.