Maggot. It'll be your own fault if you don't soon get another and a proper young man into the bargain. He walked in her direction. 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. He just walked in a few minutes ago. ‘Then let her keep her Frenchified titles to herself. She counted three on the way to the train and four more on the crowded car that would have gladly taken him to bed with not so much as a word.
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