When next he asked for her, some twelve hours later, he was told that Mademoiselle had left. Upon what this instinct was based she could not say; she was conscious only of its insistence. As Leonardo had himself pronounced, who better than a mountebank to teach of the perils awaiting the unwary? Who better than a wastrel to demonstrate the worth of thrift? And who could instruct better in the matter of affections than one who had thrown them away? ‘If he had loved me,’ she said, in the flat tone she had learned to use to conceal her vulnerable heart, ‘he would have left me at Remenham House to live a life of an English lady. Suffer me to precede you. Hetty, who had periods of lucid expression, put the thing for her from her pillow. These things illuminated her situation extremely.
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