She had lost her nerve, and there was no more freedom in London for her that night. With a rustle of her full lilac petticoats, Miss Froxfield turned back to Alderley. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. Above she found the two Chinamen squatted at the side of the door. This farewell had been particularly distasteful to him. He might spend the rest of his days at McClintock's in perfect security. "Well, like or not, I'm greatly pleased with it, and must beg it from you as a memorial——" "Of what?" she interrupted, startled by his change of manner. Her mother tried to soothe her with tales of romance and love, of all the fineries that she would enjoy in the Palazzo, but all Lucia could do was cry until her cheeks twitched and her forehead ached. ‘Oh, peste.
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