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Chapter VI A QUESTION OF IDENTIFICATION The little man with the closely-cropped beard and hair looked at her keenly through his gold eye-glasses. It was a bogus affair altogether, kept by some blackguard or other of an Englishman. The soil was identical, the climate; still, they would not bear the Olympian fruit, with its purple-lined jacket and its snow-white pulp. " "You needn't trouble yourself," replied Thames. His face was half hidden under a freshly pipeclayed sola topee—sun-helmet. Manning’s handwriting had an air of being clear without being easily legible; it was large and rather roundish, with a lack of definition about the letters and a disposition to treat the large ones as liberal-minded people nowadays treat opinions, as all amounting to the same thing really—a yearssmoothed boyish rather than an adult hand. There was more to be told, and this was as good a time as any. “But you’re dating Mike now, and I’m dating John. I wouldn’t recommend doing anything. “Of course I will,” he answered. ‘Not in the open street. ” “No,” she cried, “I will not. Warm life was behind that always, even if it slept. ” “That’s rather a pity,” Annabel said.
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