“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. “MY DEAR MISS PELLISSIER,— “To-morrow the six months will be up. I had a sort of idea,” he went on, “that you were starting life all over again, and it seemed awfully plucky. Their expression was so amiable, that it would have redeemed a countenance a thousand times plainer than hers.
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