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’ ‘Who is that?’ demanded Lucilla eagerly. But it was only when that damned scoundrel nearly spitted you in the chapel—’ He broke off and, to her intense satisfaction she saw he was not as much in command of himself as he would have her believe. “Not really. Standing before a mirror set on a dresser between the windows, two hands frozen in the act of adjusting a wide-brimmed hat on her head, stood a lady in a dark riding habit, her startled features turned towards the door. " "She cannot stay here," the manager declared. Lucy could see her striding down a Parisian catwalk quite easily. “You were really at Moulton House,” she exclaimed penitently.
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