You are not my Leopold.

Love cannot die as you would have me believe." "Now," he said coolly, "you are coming round to my way of thinking.
I have been assuring you, from the very first moment we met at the Carlton, that I was not your Leopold--that I was Everard Dominey." "I shall put you to the test," she exclaimed suddenly, rising to her feet.

"Your arm, if you please." She led him across the hall to where little groups of people were gossiping, playing bridge, and Seaman, the center of a little group of gullible amateur speculators, was lecturing on mines.

They stopped to say a word or two here and there, but Stephanie's fingers never left her companion's arm.

They passed down a corridor hung with a collection of wonderful sporting prints in which she affected some interest, into a small gallery which led into the ballroom.