At this moment, a door was opened below; lights gleamed on the walls; and the figures of Rowland and Sir Cecil were distinguished at the foot of the stairs. “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. Lord, what a state I was in! Night after night I sat there, I watched her come in, I watched her go. “Why—it’s—it’s you!” Amazement seemed to dry up the torrents of his speech. “You mustn’t talk any more,” he said, “but I want you to listen to me just for a moment.
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