She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside. “Ferringhall, were you or were you not dining last night at a certain restaurant in the Boulevard des Italiennes with—la petite Pellissier?” Now indeed Sir John was moved. “Turn me. She walked straight across to the wardrobe and opened it. When she awoke, the sun was high in Heaven. The beautiful gowns and the flashing bare shoulders and arms of the women had disturbed and distressed her.
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