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. ‘Well, what was I to think, miss? Martha never wrote nothing about you, and I did ask. Mrs. I’ve told you that practically already. He personated over there a millionaire named Meysey Hill, and it seems that he induced Annabel to go through some sort of marriage with him at the Embassy. She refused to sleep in the same room with him one night, kicking him in the shins. “Don’t you think I ought to?” she asked, very submissively.
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