CHAPTER X.
WHERE MISS MOORE WAS GOINGIt was a relief to cease breathing the atmosphere of an apartment which was contaminated by the presence of Mr. Tom Moore. At least, that was what I felt when I was being driven with Miss Adair towards Imperial Mansions. Apparently that was her own feeling.
“Nice sort of brother that. He’s a man.”
“But what a sister! She’s a woman.”
She seemed to suspect me of a satirical intention.
“I don’t fancy, Mr. Ferguson, that all women are built exactly on Bessie’s lines.”
“Would that they were. Miss Moore is of the stuff of which our mothers should be made.”
She looked at me a little sideways; I was conscious of it, though I myself looked straight ahead.
“Are you married, Mr. Ferguson?”
I do not know why she should have asked me such a question at that
