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"No, Sir Rowland," replied the attendant, "as you proposed to ride to Saint Albans to-night, I thought you might choose to see him yourself. Naturally it all came out then. The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. Ann Veronica looked down at her fingers on the claret-colored table-cloth. He went into the study and sat down at his table, but not to write. She could feel his breath on her skin, every hair on her arms and neck raised in response. ‘Me, I am Mademoiselle Charvill, the granddaughter of Monsieur Jar-vis Re-men-ham. It consisted of a close jerkin of brown frieze, ornamented with a triple row of brass buttons; loose Dutch slops, made very wide in the seat and very tight at the knees; red stockings with black clocks, and a fur cap. .

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