His face was half hidden under a freshly pipeclayed sola topee—sun-helmet. “Ferringhall, were you or were you not dining last night at a certain restaurant in the Boulevard des Italiennes with—la petite Pellissier?” Now indeed Sir John was moved. Suppose—suppose a girl did want to start in life, start in life for herself—” She looked him frankly in the eyes. She wasn’t sure of herself when she said it.
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