Something in his smile, in the cynical suggestiveness of his deferential tone, maddened her. “Don’t be an ass, Ferringhall,” he said tersely. To-morrow they will know the truth. He conveyed not only his sense of the extreme want of correctitude in their unsanctioned meetings, but also that, so far as he was concerned, this irregularity mattered not at all, that he had flung—and kept on flinging—such considerations to the wind. But as she got out of the train at Morningside Park Station she had a shock. Monsieur Charvill, he is also my cousin.
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