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“You see,” he said, “it is doubtful if we can ever marry. She said that your mother was only fifteen when she went to live with them. “I had a faint idea once that things were as you say they are, but the affair of the ring—of the unexpected ring—puzzled me. His face was half hidden under a freshly pipeclayed sola topee—sun-helmet. I know nothing about the girl, save what you have told me. Lucy could see her striding down a Parisian catwalk quite easily. That is why you came here, isn’t it?’ ‘Alors, now we know who is the spy, Monsieur Gérard. CHAPTER VIII.
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