" So saying, he slung it upon his wrist. ‘Dare I guess at the reason for your sudden interest in émigrés, Gerald?’ ‘Lucilla,’ barked Hilary warningly. " "It was her own fault," observed Blueskin, moodily. 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. Folks don’t like ’em. Still he looked hale and hearty, and the country life he led had imparted a ruddier glow to his cheek. . . Mr.
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