’ Lady Bicknacre, resplendent in purple satin, and basking in her triumphantly full rooms—for it was obvious that her patronage of the refugees had set a quickly to be followed fashion—was all sorrow and sympathy when Gerald spoke of them. She loved Florence, wandering the huge markets which bustled day and night. The chapel was crowded to excess. But where in the world was the girl? A door led to another chamber beyond. The day comes when you shall regret how you have spoken to me. She went to a writing-desk and made some memoranda on a sheet of note-paper, and then remembered that she had no address as yet to which letters could be sent. But what if she were to marry? He glanced towards the elderly dame and found her watching him, the dimple very much in evidence. He cherished her. ‘Am I a fool? Can I blow off a head with a pistol which is not loaded?’ ‘She has a point,’ conceded Alderley, relaxing a little as amusement burgeoned again ‘Ten to one she is a French spy,’ burst from Roding.
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