‘Whither away, mademoiselle?’ he said grimly, ungently grasping her arm above the elbow. ‘—and I love your raven hair, and your bright blue eyes, and your very kissable lips—’ suiting the action to the words ‘—and I love the crazy way you speak English, and the way you curse at me. He himself, middle-aged, steeped in traditions of the City and moneymaking, very ill-skilled in all the lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical powers of an unlimited banking account. His treatment of his wife is most unsatisfactory. Little did I imagine at the time that it was my own father to whom he referred.
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