” “Why not?” “You see, if I do go home my father objects to the College, and as for typing —” “Don’t go home. 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. A tourist caravan of four pole-chairs jogged along a narrow street. He was profoundly stirred.
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