They had been informally introduced during floor hockey, when Katy had sent a puck flying into Lucy’s face. “Is that so? Who says?” He demanded, his eyebrows arching as he looked at her with puerile glee. It had, as it were, blown up at the concussion of his first step. " "A miniature! Of whom?" "That I can't say," replied Jack, mysteriously. No sterner head was ever beheld beneath the cowl of a monk, or the bonnet of an inquisitor. ‘Nevertheless, he will neither help me, nor will I seek his help. Marry, come up! I'll show him what an injured wife can do. Promise me one thing before I leave you. ’ ‘What name would you like, then?’ Her shadowed features turned in his direction. A swift frown brought the still dark brows together for a moment.
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