"Good night. 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. It was horrible. "That's not an easy question to answer," rejoined Blueskin. ’ “Crude, I admit. Gerald’s temper flared. Directly he saw Anna he accosted her. At this moment, a door was opened below; lights gleamed on the walls; and the figures of Rowland and Sir Cecil were distinguished at the foot of the stairs. From the portals of the hotel—scarcely fifty yards from the canal—one saw the blank face of the ancient city of Canton. ‘You didn’t understand it any better than I. ” To which the only possible reply seemed to be, “I’m not coming home. .
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