He waved to her. ” “In Paris, I think,” Ennison answered. It was in the quiet streets and squares toward Oxford Street that it first came into her head disagreeably that she herself was being followed. She directed him to an old part of the highway, a featureless stretch of old farmhouses capped in snow, with the occasional working silo. Then she looked up at Brendon. Certainly not a gentlewoman. “You are very kind,” she said hesitatingly, “but I don’t remember—I don’t think that I know you, do I?” “I am afraid that you do not,” he admitted, with a smile which he meant to be encouraging. Do you know, Lady Ferringhall, I am proud that your sister permits me to call myself her friend. " The doctor ran his fingers through his hair, despairingly.
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