“You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. She did not want to feel such negative emotion towards any member of her foster family. For a stunned moment, Emile did not speak. All the rest of his existence was subordinate to this pursuit; he lived for it, worked for it, kept himself in training for it. The room was papered with green, large-patterned paper that was at worst a trifle dingy, and the arm-chair and the seats of the other chairs were covered with the unusual brightness of a large-patterned chintz, which also supplied the window-curtain. "He sails to-morrow morning in the very vessel by which I start," replied Jack.
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