"Mrs. "Not proud in the least, I declare. But to England we will go. ” He sidled toward her, but she recoiled from him, leaving him in possession of the hearth-rug. He heard Rollo's stump beat a gentle tattoo on the floor. How many nuns were there in England who might have occasion to spy on Lady Bicknacre’s ballroom? The presence of the French refugees took on greater significance. It was no use. She tried surreptitiously to reach her own dagger, in its cunning hiding place in her petticoat. They confronted each other, barely feet apart, neither apparently any longer aware of anyone else in the room. “I’m so glad you’re here, Peter,” she said.
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