’ The lady’s face came round, a puzzled frown on her brow. You know you don’t mean it. He jumped back, cursing. She felt the bedsprings coil as he moved from his seated position, entranced. Did she suppose him a possible pretender to her daughter’s hand? The girl—Dorothée, if memory served—was clearly marriageable, but he imagined most of these unhappy exiles were all but penniless. It had certainly caused some havoc in the uninhabited mansion, chewing through Holland covers to get at the furniture beneath, and knocking down a fire guard and a couple of wooden stands. Men had tried to kiss her— unshaven derelicts, some of them terrible—but she had always managed to escape. Earles would permit. She moaned, having failed in her mission to find her mother and her God. It is better as it is.
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