The theme was a masquerade. " "Leave you!" echoed the ruffian, with a contemptuous laugh; "—not just yet. There was little fighting spirit here. But here the resemblance stopped. Warding off the blows as well as he could with the bar, Jack struck both the horses on the head, and the animals plunged so violently, that they not only prevented their riders from assailing him, but also kept off the hostlers; and, in the confusion that ensued, Jack managed to spring over the fence, and shaped his course across the field in the direction of Sir John Oldcastle's. " "Where?" "At Yale. ‘You, Mademoiselle Charvill, are as unlike most of your sex as you can be. ‘She won’t confide in you? Now, why?’ ‘Because that scoundrel Leonardo drummed it into her head that no man was to be trusted,’ Gerald announced viciously.
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