The Wastrel did not relish this. “Splendid you are looking to-day, Miss Stanley,” he said. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. You've your own reasons, no doubt, for bringing up her son —perhaps, I ought rather to say your son, Mr. He had had five children at irregular intervals, of whom Ann Veronica was the youngest, so that as a parent he came to her perhaps a little practised and jaded and inattentive; and he called her his “little Vee,” and patted her unexpectedly and disconcertingly, and treated her promiscuously as of any age between eleven and eight-and-twenty. ‘Stand where you are, or I shoot!’ Like lightning, thoughts zipped through her mind. Bah! She does not know me very well, and you—not at all.
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