“My dear child,” he said, “with me you need have no apprehension. And this shall be your diet till you die. “I beg your pardon,” he said, “but you appear to be a fellow countrywoman of mine, and in some distress. 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 is not, of course, a pleasant subject of conversation for you or for me, yet I think I may venture to suggest to you that your sister’s—er—indiscretions—have reached a point which makes a separation between you almost a necessity. He must be a sly fox to get out of the Mint without my knowledge.
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