“You are the Sir John Ferringhall who has bought the Lyndmore estate, are you not?” she remarked. He was beginning to think about her inordinately. She leaped to a world of shabby knowledge, of furtive base realizations. "You must not remain here," he said. ’ ‘About me?’ The lady’s lashes fluttered and her fan came up. She had never been to the opera before except as one of a congested mass of people in the cheaper seats, and with backs and heads and women’s hats for the frame of the spectacle; there was by contrast a fine large sense of space and ease in her present position. I'll call for you after lunch. “Hola Marteen!” She exclaimed cheerfully. Neither your aunt nor I have any other thought but what is best for you. ‘You’re speaking the truth. “Is Miss Stanley coming up with us?” “I go second,” she said, “and change at Wimbledon.
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