He had meant to be master of his fate that evening and it had escaped him altogether. Some shadow of reserve seemed to have crept up between them. “Lucy, do you forgive me?” She looked at him in earnest. “The rarefied air? I thought you had a better head. Wood, was pronounced by that lady to be very much sprained; and she, forthwith, proceeded to bathe it with a reddish-coloured lotion. The thing rankled in her mind night and day. How many nuns were there in England who might have occasion to spy on Lady Bicknacre’s ballroom? The presence of the French refugees took on greater significance.
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