CHAPTER XXVI. Then she stood up and looked around the room. The Frenchman had moved back into Piccadilly from Down Street, at which the lad following him had immediately sauntered away a yard or two. Already the seed of a tender dream was stirring. “Lady Ferringhall, sir. “No man can realize,” she said, “what that pit can be. “It’s a great deal for a young lady who’s alone in the world, as I suppose you are at present, to have a respectable home, and I do not think in such a case that private apartments are at all desirable. “Don’t you understand? It is I whom you cared for in Paris, not Anna.
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