For it was the face she had sighed for, day-time and night time—it was the man she loved. It was Hugh Ingelow.
CHAPTER XXI.
MRS. SHARPE DOES HER DUTY.
"You know that man, miss?" Mrs. Sharpe said, ineffably calm, stooping to pick up the glass.
Mollie turned to her with eyes wild and wide.
"I know him—yes. And you—Oh, for pity's sake, say you know him, too!"
"How on earth can I say so until I've seen him?" said Mrs. Sharpe, poising her glass and clapping her eye to it, one hand over the other, after the fashion of the sex.
She took a long look.
"Well?" Mollie panted.