The latch came with a weak click. What was the fellow doing in this part of the town? Had not Lady Bicknacre said he was living at Paddington? The Frenchman, booted and neat in buckskin breeches and a plain frockcoat, a flat-brimmed hat on his head, paused a moment at an intersection with one of the roads leading north, apparently seeking a street sign. ’ ‘I’m afraid you are right. “I can get you,” Mr. Mr. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. ’ He smiled down at her. “I’ve been thinking—all the afternoon. There was the same airy grace of movement, the same deep brown hair and alabaster skin. The simile started a laugh in his throat. But in between these wider phases of comparative confidence were gaps of disconcerting doubt, when the universe was presented as making sinister and threatening faces at her, defying her to defy, preparing a humiliating and shameful overthrow. Her patience was waning fast.
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