Then to the Feathers, in Drury Lane. I’ve had a lot on my mind. At every step he seemed to be haunted by the ghost of the past. When mistress took and died—’ Joan broke off and sighed, moving away to the window. Each was draped in transparent silk, dancing, beckoning to me, teasing me. And here she was—in a mess because it had been impossible for her to avoid leaning upon another man. Winter came: rainy, damp, and savage. "What for?" rejoined Quilt, evasively. 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 eyed the young couple with the tragic history behind them, and could only suppose that familiarity had dulled their senses.
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