One glance swept across the place and it was immediately apparent that Pottiswick had not, this time, been mistaken. At last in a street near the Hampstead Road she hit upon a room that had an exceptional quality of space and order, and a tall woman with a kindly face to show it. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. The particulars of her engagement were very clear in her memory. ‘You would read my mind?’ Gerald was pretty certain he already had, but he did not say so. The man looked as though he would have liked to deny it, but could not.
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