Lady Ferringhall listened, and her cheeks grew pale. “Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. We girls, my sister and I, were left quite alone when our father died, and I made up my mind to make some little place in the world for myself. "The Dutchman was right, after all. It had been her father’s surname, and it had sounded far more innocuous and American than Iovelli. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. ‘I don’t want no gold! Not for serving my mistress.
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