‘You were his daughter. Don't be frightened of her. I had no idea. The hotel on the Peak had the aspect of a fairy castle. Their houses became a refuge of ill repute, the source of rumor and intrigue in the highest echelons of society. What a God-forsaken fool he was! And dimly, out there somewhere in the South Seas—the beach! Already he sensed the fascination of the inevitable; and with this fascination came the idea of haste, to get there quickly and have done. But you, Ferringhall, our pattern, an erstwhile Sheriff of London, a county magistrate, a prospective politician, a sober and an upright man, one who, had he aspired to it, might even have filled the glorious position of Lord Mayor— James, a whisky and Apollinaris at once.
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