He’s a prig to the finger-tips, is Sir John—doesn’t know what an artist is. “Certainly I was a little way off at the café, and she had a hat and veil on, but I could have sworn that it was ‘Alcide. Having no more patience, I drew you aside to give you a compliment on your radiant beauty. He came to the door and as he opened it a crack, she pushed herself inside urgently. One can't help being jealous, you know, even of an unworthy object. Jack Kimble stiffened, looking at his interrogator with wary anger in his face. But that title he would not endure.
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