“I gave you my answer years ago,” she said obstinately, while fearing lest he should take her at her word.
“Oblige me by thinking it over,” he said. “I’ll mention it to you again in a few days.”
“It will be no use,” she said.
He took his leave, waddling down the street in his vague clothes, conscious of his fame as Lewis Mardon, the great house-agent of the Champs Elysees, known throughout Europe and America.
In a few days he did mention it again.
“There’s only one thing that makes me dream of it even for a moment,” said Sophia. “And that is my sister’s health.”
“Your sister!” he exclaimed. He did not know she had a sister. Never had she spoken of her family.
“Yes. Her letters are beginning to worry me.”
“Does she live in Paris?”
“No. In Staffordshire. She has never left home.”