‘This is a private house,’ Hilary said severely, ‘and you are trespassing. The conflict was of short duration; for Shotbolt was no match for his athletic antagonist. Yet either the rest or the wine seemed already to have done him good. Melusine glanced towards the elderly dame and found that sharp gaze directed upon her. You are afraid—that here in London—I shall not be a success. Was he planning on spending more time with her once in the country? The streets choked with beggars and the dying. ’ ‘But it is imbecile,’ interrupted Melusine, struck by the impracticalities of her father’s scheme. 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.
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