These and similar thoughts were passing through her mind, when suddenly she was recalled to her present surroundings by Ralph’s sudden entrance.
“Halloa!” he cried roughly. “Dinner ready?”
“It has been ready more than an hour, dear,” she replied, in French, jumping to her feet and passing at once into the tiny kitchen beyond.
CHAPTER VIII.
REVEALS THE GRIM TRUTH.
Though Ralph Ansell’s clean-shaven face was strong, and his eyes keen and searching, in the dress he wore he presented anything but the appearance of the gentleman he did when, twelve months before, he had lived in the cosy little bachelor flat in Shaftesbury Avenue.
His clothes were black, striped with grey, the coat edged with braid in the foreign manner, his neck was encircled by a soft collar tied with a loose, black cravat. His waistcoat was open, displaying his soft, white shirt and the leather belt around his waist, while on his head was a cloth cap with an unusually large peak.
He looked the true Parisian loafer, as indeed he was. Yet love is blind, and as yet Jean would believe nothing to his discredit, crushing out any suspicion that had arisen within her.