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 finished the olive and looked up. I've a shrewd guess where he's taken refuge; but I'll ferret him out. At the threshold of the study he bade her good-night; but he did not touch her forehead with his lips. The uncanny directness of those gray eyes, the absence of diffidence, the beauty of the face in profile (full, it seemed a little too broad to make for perfect beauty), the mellow voice that came full and free, without hesitance, all combined to mark her as the most unusual young woman he had ever met. ’ ‘That’s right,’ agreed the militiaman, coming forward to stand before her.
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