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Updated: June 29, 2025
But you, Ferringhall, our pattern, an erstwhile Sheriff of London, a county magistrate, a prospective politician, a sober and an upright man, one who, had he aspired to it, might even have filled the glorious position of Lord Mayor James, a whisky and Apollinaris at once. I cannot go on. My feelings overpower me." "You all seem to be trying to pull my leg," Sir John remarked quietly.
"Lady Ferringhall alone?" Ennison exclaimed. "Quite alone, sir." Ennison was dismayed. "For Heaven's sake, Dunster, don't let her out of the carriage, or hansom, or whatever she came in. Say I'm out, away, anything!" "I am sorry, sir," the man answered, "but she had sent away her hansom before I answered the bell. She is in the hall now. The door was thrown open. Annabel entered.
"I will put the question," Drummond said gravely. "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. He sat up in his chair as though the question had stung him. The Times slipped from his fingers. His eyes were bright, and his voice had in it an unaccustomed timbre.
She simply refuses to see or hear from me again. I went to the theatre that night. I waited for her at the back. She saw me, and, Lady Ferringhall, I shall never forget her look as long as I live. It was horrible. She looked at me as though I were some unclean thing, as though my soul were weighted with every sin in the calendar. I could not have spoken to her. It took my breath away.
I must apologize for disturbing you at such an unseemly hour, but I should be very much obliged if Miss Pellissier would allow me a few minutes' conversation. My name is Ferringhall Sir John Ferringhall." Courtlaw took up his hat and coat at once, but Anna motioned him to remain. "Please stay," she said briefly. "Will you come in, Sir John. I believe that I have heard my sister speak of you.
The second is to somehow meet Lady Ferringhall. These fellows must be right," he added thoughtfully, "and yet there's a mystery somewhere." On Saturday mornings there was deposited on the plate of each guest at breakfast time, a long folded paper with Mrs. White's compliments. Anna thrust hers into her pocket unopened, and for the first time left the house without a smile upon her face.
"I heard they came from somewhere outrageous." "Hampstead didn't suit Lady Ferringhall," Ennison remarked. "They have just taken this house from Lady Cellender." "And what are you doing here?" the lady asked. "Politics!" Ennison answered grimly. "And you?" "Same thing. Besides, my husband has shares in Sir John's company.
"No doubt about that," Meddoes continued. "The father was in the army, and got a half-pay job at St. Heliers. Died short, I suppose, and the girls had to shift for themselves. One went in for painting, kept straight and married old Ferringhall a week or so ago the Lord help her.
Ennison took the document, tore it half in two without looking at it, and flung it back in Hill's face. Then he turned on his heel and walked off. "By-the-bye," his neighbour asked him languidly, "who is our hostess?" "Usually known, I believe, as Lady Ferringhall," Ennison answered, "unless I have mixed up my engagement list and come to the wrong house." "How dull you are," the lady remarked.
Her tone should have warned him, but he was too much in earnest to regard it. "Yes. You remember that you saw us at the Savoy a few evenings ago?" "Yes." "And you knew, of course, that we were old friends?" "Indeed!" "Lady Ferringhall, I love your sister." "You what?" she repeated incredulously. "I love your sister." Lady Ferringhall sat with half closed eyes and clenched teeth. Brute! Fool!
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