Here was a hole as wide as a church-door. Every one turned to her in astonishment. 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. It was precious for two reasons: it was the photograph of her beautiful mother whom she could not remember, and it would identify her to the aunt in Hartford. Manning,” she began. “Silly!” he remarked after a pause. E. He was a man who in all things classified without nuance, and for him there were in the matter of age just two feminine classes and no more—girls and women. ’ ‘I thank you,’ Gerald said drily.
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