‘How do you do, my lord? I am Lucilla Froxfield. He talked in the same style, and pretty nearly in the same language; laughed in the same manner, and coughed, or sneezed at the same time. She gave me an impression of a sort of patched quilt; little bits of patterned stuff coming up again and again. “If only Sir John were not Sir John I would ask you to come and have some supper. This was unscrupulous, he admitted, because he had no intention of following through on the seductive promise in his conduct. ’ ‘Miss?’ gaped the soldier.
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