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订购热线：15811042829 “Are you really!” said Yvette.

She understood now the look of resentment and defiance in the little Jewess’ big, childlike brown eyes. She was an honest little thing, but perhaps her honesty was TOO rational. Perhaps it partly explained the notorious unscrupulousness of the well-known Simon Fawcett.

“Yes! As soon as we get the divorce, I’m going to marry Major Eastwood.”

Her cards were now all on the table. She was not going to deceive anybody.

Behind her, the two men were talking briefly. She glanced round, and fixed the gipsy with her big brown eyes.

He was looking up, as if shyly, at the big fellow in the sparkling jersey, who was standing pipe in mouth, man to man, looking down.

“With the horses back of Arras,” said the gipsy, in a low voice.

They were talking war. The gipsy had served with the artillery teams, in the Major’s own regiment.

“Ein sch?ner Mensch!” said the Jewess. “A handsome man, eh?”