Chapter VI A QUESTION OF IDENTIFICATION The little man with the closely-cropped beard and hair looked at her keenly through his gold eye-glasses. “Don’t befool me any more,” he answered, almost roughly. ” “Can’t we go down into Italy?” “No,” he said; “it won’t run to that now. He would be off her case just as soon as his fever for her broke and he found a lover, and she imagined he must have plenty of girls from ritzy families lining up to choose from. “And so you have been thinking?” her father began, quoting her letter and looking over his slanting glasses at her. ’ ‘Damnation!’ ‘What the devil ails you?’ demanded his friend, striding forward. “There was a man called Montague Hill,” she said hoarsely, “but he is dead.
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