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. “It was the night you left Paris. “If it is a choice between the two,” she answered, “I must be Annabel Pellissier. Who could say that the girl's father had not once been a fashionable clergyman in the States and that drink had got him and forced him down, step by step, until—to use the child's odd expression—he had come upon the beach? She was cynical, this spinster. He was plainly attired in a riding-dress and boots of the period, and wore a hanger by his side.
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