She watched, puzzled, as her cavalier frowned at the newcomer, glancing from him to Melusine and back again. “But it’s a long business. Melusine dashed them away, but they kept on coming. I wish”— she found she had embarked on a bad sentence—“I wish we needn’t have quarrelled. 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. She flew to the door, but returned the next minute, looking deeply disappointed, and bringing the intelligence that it was "only Mrs. They were drenched with water and suds. It’s no good. “This life is killing me! Oh, it is dull, dull, dull!” Suddenly an idea seemed to strike her.
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