“I suppose I fell in love with her, Ann Veronica. I have always understood that men avoid like the plague a woman with a sense of humour. She rested for a half hour in heaven on earth, feeling herself drift in and out of sleep. The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind. 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 halted, her pistol still held firm and straight, both hands gripping it, her expressive features at once determined and uncertain. “Hotel Ritz,” he said mechanically to the coachman.
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