“Drive to 13, Montague Street, cabman,” she ordered. “Loneliness,” she said, “is a luxury which I never permit myself. Those who act wickedly bring misery on all connected with them. Only an undermaid I was then. The booming voice and the energetic movements spoke plainly of hurry. "All right," he said. " "Aye!" was McClintock's inaudible affirmative. 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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