‘By traitors I am surrounded!’ ‘Stop talking utter twaddle,’ ordered Roding, marching up to the desk. She attempted by a sheer act of will to end the scene, to will herself out of it anywhere. Never was heard such a bawling as these unfortunate wights kept up. ‘Pray you, mademoiselle, can you not—’ ‘No use trying to enlist Lucilla’s aid,’ snapped Roding. She wondered why he was so distinctive, so unlike other men, and it never occurred to her for some time that this might be because she was falling in love with him. Hurrying down the Haymarket, he was arrested by a crowd who were collected round a street-singer. He was about to cut the sergeant short, when his eye fell on a gentleman walking along Piccadilly, his manner uncertain, his eyes shifting as if he sought something out. Ann Veronica was overcome by this amount of emotion.
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