“Can I bring you anything, sir—a whisky and soda, or a liqueur? You’ll excuse me, sir, but you haven’t touched your coffee. My trouble is with your sister. Sydney sprang up. Have you ever heard the name of Meysey Hill?” “Meysey Hill?” He repeated it after her, and she knew at once from his tone and his quick glance into her face that the name possessed some significance for him. ” Rhea whispered. The Iron Bar. A traffic of copious barges slumbered over the face of the river-barges either altogether stagnant or dreaming along in the wake of fussy tugs; and above circled, urbanely voracious, the London seagulls. “It is just six o’clock now. You're an angel of goodness. Here is one verse. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. It is magnificent indeed.
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