By this time, several of the terrified domestics appeared with lights. There were mysterious rustlings that made him glance hopefully toward the sea. Fortescue, with a bow. “I believe,” he said stiffly, “that these are the apartments of Miss Pellissier. She frowned and gripped her hands about her knees very tightly. She decided that she would try to push whatever resolve he had in the car to see where it would lead. Who is it?” The man came a little further into the room. She felt he was going to say something more—something still more personal and intimate. He dressed rather after the fashion of the West End than the City, and affected a cultured urbanity that somehow disconcerted and always annoyed Ann Veronica’s father extremely. A single false step might have precipitated him into the street; or, if he had trodden upon an unsound part of the roof, he must have fallen through it. I’ve been waiting all my life to get out of this town. You don’t deserve it, but he does.
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