She was dressed as English girls do dress for town, without either coquetry or harshness: her collarless blouse confessed a pretty neck, her eyes were bright and steady, and her dark hair waved loosely and graciously over her ears. He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. ‘Mademoiselle. And the fact that it was dressed in riding gear had fooled her into thinking it was her own image. ‘But it is entirely natural that I choose my own country. In fact, it would not surprise me to discover that they were both Leonardo’s. ” He took his place by her side, and they talked lightly of London, the shops and people. “Lucy Albert, sir. ” She smiled at him cheerfully.
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