. Before an hour had elapsed, the concourse was fearfully increased. “Arthur, this is Miss Pellissier—Mr. Heaven knows why! They don’t marry most of us off now until high up in the twenties. It was impossible. Certainly I never met him. 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. Don’t be frightened, dear.
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