and Mrs. Playing with one hand he turned on his stool to glance at her. “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. “Were you ever in love, aunt?” she asked. ” He shook his head, and his eyes and the mouth under the black mustache wrinkled with his smile. The attempt was unsuccessful. She guessed that he probably slept all of three hours a night at most. Odd, but he had never thought of the beach until this girl (who looked as if she had stepped out of the family album) referred to it with a familiarity which was as astonishing as it was profoundly sad.
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