Lord, what a state I was in! Night after night I sat there, I watched her come in, I watched her go. Tucked under the writing-table a pair of yellow and gold Turkish slippers of a highly meretricious quality caught her eye. To-morrow night —or rather to-night, for we are fast verging on another day—I propose to lure him out of the house by a stratagem which I am sure will prove infallible; and, then, what so easy as to knock him on the head. A momentary petrifaction, and terror had lent wings to her feet. 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. She gave her a wink when John had turned to ask Mark if Lucy could ride home with them. .
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