Chapter Two ‘Our French friends are beginning to form quite a little coterie,’ remarked Gerald, covertly studying the group gathered in an alcove at the other side of Lady Bicknacre’s ballroom. ‘I’m damned if I see what you have to complain of,’ uttered Charvill, a faintly bewildered note underlying his irascibility. Her mind went on generalizing. Little more’n a week. ‘Then we will beg. There were a few loose, broken fragments of rock to reckon with upon the ledges, and one place where hands did as much work as toes. I must say what I have to say!” “But not now—not here.
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