I do not think you quite understand my ideals or what is becoming as between father and daughter. He suddenly became eloquent and plausible. And one must—some of it must slip through one’s fingers. “I propose,” Sir John said, “that we pay for our dinner—which we haven’t had— tip the garçon a sovereign, and take a cab to the Ritz. She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. You might trust me with the Chevalier himself,—I'd never betray him.
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