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She glanced towards her sister, and curiously enough found in her face some faint reflection of her own rather sombre mirth. “What a beautiful mare’s nest!” she exclaimed. She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside. 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. From there I plan to travel until I reach Columbia—but any lawless country will do. That’s really our choice now, defy—or futility. ’ Roding gave him a look of respect. Anna was singing as she used to sing. . . She made no attempt to answer her sister’s question. In the sixth center row sat an unexpected guest, his Classical Greek features stark in the yellow half light.
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