Stanley determined to improve the occasion. To walk beside him, dressed akin to him, rucksacked and companionable, was bliss in itself; each step she took was like stepping once more across the threshold of heaven. 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. But it was of no avail. Mrs. “Your brother has gone?” she asked Sydney, between the courses. She foraged about in her mind for some satisfying equivalent which would express in English this gurgling drone the Chinese called a language.
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