Spurlock remained where he was until the sail became an infinitesimal speck in the distance. 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. Lord Charvill champed upon an invisible bit for a moment or two, closing the gap between himself and the girl, and muttering the name to himself in an overwrought sort of way. ’ ‘As far as I know it, ma’am. I have—run away. “Yes! I must! The thing is becoming a torture to me. I will pray for you.
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