She thought she had hidden well from him. Gerald, whose French was adequate from his military service abroad, was able to respond suitably to such remarks as the ladies addressed to him, but was less exercised by their fashionable dress than their decidedly careworn appearance. Kneebone's house, the young man hastened to a hotel in the neighbourhood of Covent Garden, where, having procured a horse, he shaped his course towards the west end of the town. It was a face that matched her body, so pure and beautiful that any man would have killed for her. “David Courtlaw!” she repeated. She obeyed, extending her arm.
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