CHAPTER XII. And Ritter’s, too, was very amusing and foreign and discreet; a little rambling room with a number of small tables, with red electric light shades and flowers. Her father’s ideas of expostulation were a little harsh and forcible, and over the claret-colored table-cloth and under the gas chandelier, with his hat and umbrella between them like the mace in Parliament, he and his daughter contrived to have a violent quarrel. ’ ‘And you will not,’ came triumphantly from the cherry lips. JACK SHEPPARD. I’m making a mess of my life— unless you come in and take it. It’s not fair to you. 132 “I thought you wanted me—you told me so when we kissed in the park!” He cried.
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