Wood cut him short by stating his intention of crossing the river as soon as possible in order to avoid the storm. How perfectly charming. A faint, delightfully humorous smile parted her lips. In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis. He might have supposed the fellow would be eager to be rid of the tale, for that he might have longer to enjoy the amenities of the Triumphal Chariot where the meeting had been appointed. “I was sick of the make-believe. ” Lucy replied. She'll be mighty interesting to watch. 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.
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