CHAPTER XI ‘DODO’S DESPAIR’
‘My sympathy, I believe, was rightly bestowed,’ said Marjorie frigidly. ‘I would not see the poorest wandering pedlar start for the Gros Nez cliffs without helping him to the extent I helped you. Even a pedlar might have a wife at home, sir. A foolish, fond creature, shedding tears of anxiety for him in his absence.’
The side-thrust did not seem to scathe Geoffrey’s conscience as it should have done.
‘Would you make it a special point that this married pedlar should return you your ribbon, Miss Bartrand?’
‘I make it a point that Mr. Arbuthnot shall do so.’ Marjorie delivered her ultimatum unflinchingly. ‘The ribbon is worthless, except as a memento of some happy days I spent in Cadiz once, totally worthless to any living person but me.’
‘And why should it not be a memento of happy days spent in Guernsey by myself?’
She looked him straight between the eyes, too hotly, dangerously irate to make immediate answer.
‘Suppose, leading a prosaic life in the thick of bricks and mortar, that length of ribbon could act as a kind of talisman.’