’ Melusine shrugged. “I don’t know much about the technique of music,” he said at last, with his eyes upon her. 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. He was in evening dress: swallow-tailed coat and white tie. The poor old imbecile! Why, this child was a firebrand, a wrecker, if ever he had seen one; and the worst kind because she was unconscious of her gifts. There was a hint of tears in her voice. ‘Didn’t mean it, love.
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