A sob was strangled in her throat. She wore a plain black dress, reaching almost to her throat—her small oval face, with the large brown eyes, was colourless, delicately expressive, yet with something mysterious in its Sphinx-like immobility. And you think I would marry you?’ ‘Why not? I am unworthy, eh? Because I am a servant. I am not French in the least. She no more realizes what she has done than a child of eight. Wood, in a whisper, as he filled a rummer to the brim, not to forget the health of the Chevalier de Saint George—a proposition to which the lady immediately responded by drinking the toast aloud. CHAPTER X Ah Cum was himself puzzled.
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