” “How the hell did you learn to play like that?” “Lots of practice, John. But, no. It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac. However, no one had discovered me, so I contrived to drag myself to my horse. It was enough that she witnessed it and could not go to him. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. 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. The moon had arisen, and everything could be as plainly distinguished as during the day. Wood turned over to obtain a more comfortable position. ‘You have rifled his papers. There were dark rims under her eyes, soft now with unshed tears.
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