Lady Angela shrugged her shoulders. ‘You do not like it?’ ‘That is hardly the point. “Why not? Isn’t the whole thing a lie? Isn’t her reputation, this husband of hers, the ‘Alcide’ business, isn’t it all a cursed juggle? She hasn’t the right to do it. 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. Notwithstanding the remonstrances of Wood and Winifred, Thames instantly followed the domestic, and found a man, with his face muffled up, at the door, as she had described. She met the keen grey eyes of a clean-shaven man, between forty and fifty, quietly dressed in professional attire. Wanton! Had I been one, even God would have forgiven me, understanding. The conversation which her entrance had interrupted began to buzz again all around her. He helped himself to a beer, then a vodka and tonic, then two rum and Cokes.
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