I loitered in the shop as you chatted with the butcher’s girl. She looked at Lucy guiltily, wondering if she would be betrayed. “You say you want a vote,” said Mr. . She was unusually soft and gentle in her manner to him. “Not too bad. “I wonder what he takes me for?” When presently she got down from the stile a certain note of internal conflict, a touch of doubt, had gone from her warm-tinted face. “I don’t see quite what your game is, Vee, but I suppose you’ve got a game on somewhere. 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. I cannot answer that question.
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