‘He’d have been that happy if he’d known how you’re the spit of her, miss. ’ ‘It is so in a convent, you see,’ she explained airily. There is Lady Arlingford’s reception to-night, ten till twelve, and the Hatton House ball, marked with a cross, sir, important. Did she suppose him a possible pretender to her daughter’s hand? The girl—Dorothée, if memory served—was clearly marriageable, but he imagined most of these unhappy exiles were all but penniless.
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