For Ruth grew lovelier as the days went on. Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent. I—well, I borrowed Anna’s name. "All is prepared. "You were no doubt surprised by the unlooked-for intelligence I sent you of your nephew's return?" "Was it unlooked-for on your part?" demanded the knight, distrustfully. "Don't look at it, I entreat," she cried. "I'm too well acquainted with your proceedings, Madam, to believe that. We know London, and you are a stranger here. Now, will you do me the honour of lunching with me, Miss Pellissier?” Anna hesitated. “Of course!” he said.
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