’ ‘Gad, there is someone there,’ exclaimed Hilary beside him, shading his eyes with one hand. She could feel her face turning beet red. The room was papered with green, large-patterned paper that was at worst a trifle dingy, and the arm-chair and the seats of the other chairs were covered with the unusual brightness of a large-patterned chintz, which also supplied the window-curtain. “You have killed me. ‘Because,’ said Lady Bicknacre in the confidential manner of all matrons when passing on a tidbit of scandal, ‘Nicholas married against his father’s wishes and ran away. His father was one of my old customers, and I am happy to find his son treading in his steps. ‘You are really not helping matters, my friend.
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