I have lived in Europe almost as much as in
America."
She certainly had no trace of any accent. She spoke a little more
slowly, perhaps, than most young Englishwomen, but there was nothing
whatever in her words or in her pronunciation of them to suggest a
transatlantic origin. She stood by his side looking about her with an
air of interest, and Duncombe began to wonder whether after all she was
not more beautiful than the photograph which he had treasured so
jealously. He became conscious of a desire to keep her by his side.
"Is your father shooting, Miss Fielding?"
She laughed softly.
"You don't know my father, Sir George," she answered. "He hates
exercise, detests being out of doors, and his idea of Paradise when he
is away from business is to be in a large hotel where every one speaks
English, where there are tapes and special editions and an American
bar."
Duncombe laughed.
"Then I am afraid Mr. Fielding will find it rather hard to amuse himself
down here."
"Well, he's discovered the telephone," she said. "He's spending the
morning ringing up people all over the country. He was talking to his
bankers when we came out.
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