McClintock, striking a match to relight his cigar, broke the spell. “Dear me, what a relief! If I had had any nerves that man would have trampled upon them long ago. The vast area in front of Westminster Hall was thronged with people, and it was only by a vigorous application of their staves that the constables could force a passage for the vehicle. He declined to come in. Her cheeks flushed a dull red. ‘It is, you understand, that Monsieur Charvill did not—how do you say in English?—having an eye to an eye—’ ‘Didn’t see eye to eye with the Vicomte Valade? That I can well believe. It could not be a legal marriage. And he hazarded a wink at the poet over the paper on which he was sketching.
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