Melusine was silent, revolving this outcome in her mind as she stared at Roding, who was frowning at her in a puzzled way. Was he pleased?” “Calmly! He said—you won’t mind my telling you?” “Not a bit. She breathed deeply of the starch of his shirt. 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. She produced from the depths of her pride the ugly investigatory note of the modern district visitor. "You see?" Ruth said.
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