She saw no difference in them, no difference from the eyes she used to know. It could not be! Jack was mistaken, and yet, how could a man be mistaken as to whether he could see or not?
Again she peered desperately, her face within an inch of his. Jack could feel her soft breath on his cheek; her lips, half opened in her excitement, seemed to be touching his moustache; the slightest movement forward on his part and they would be against his.
Never had the man been so tempted. At the same moment a wolfish head poked stealthily through the brushwood, and a pair of cruel, cunning eyes glared forth angrily upon the scene.
CHAPTER VIII
"THE FIGHT ON THE SANDS"
"Ho! ho! ho!" laughed a high, sneering voice "A pretty picture, upon my word—and the good, saintly Loyola, too! Where does hubby come in, I wonder?"
The pair sprang apart as if struck by a thunderbolt, and as Jack faced round the ruffian recognised him.
"Oh, it's you, is it? Big Harry's dandy mate spooning with my little wife! Well, I am surprised! What a shocking world it is, to be sure!"
"You devil!" hissed the rolling-stone furiously.