A silence ensued. 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. CHAPTER III. He rang the doorbell, even though she had already cracked the door for him. She had started wearing the dresses he bought for her, the white and blue shift he said, “brings out the color in your eyes”. ’ ‘Yes, she duped me finely,’ agreed Gerald.
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