"You Miss Child?" he shortly inquired, holding her with a steady stare, which from a younger man would have been offensive.
"I am, sir," she said in the low, sweet voice that Peter junior loved. Even Peter senior was impressed with it in spite of himself, impressed with the whole personality of the young woman whom Petro had said was "made to be a princess." She looked a more difficult proposition than he had expected to tackle.
"Know who I am?" he continued his catechism.
"You are Mr. Rolls."
"What makes you so sure of that, eh?"
"You were pointed out to me one evening last winter, when you were inspecting the shop with Mr. Croft."
"Nobody had any business pointing me out. Who did?"
"I'm afraid I've forgotten," said the girl, more calmly than she felt. "It was so long ago."
"You seem to have been dead certain he was right."
"I took it for granted."