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. “Surely!” he remarked, with an expression of worried appeal. ‘Melusine!’ Distracted, Gosse blinked and his eyes flicked away from Melusine’s just as she flung the fullness of her gathered petticoats in the way of his blade. Me, I prefer to forget that I have such a father. Do so; and I am yours as heretofore. They might applaud, or object, or interfere, but the drama was her very own. He lowered her neck before her, and she noticed a bizarre urge to bite him rising from her mind like an itch.
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