What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley. "What motive have you for concealment?" he demanded. ” His face darkened. Hastening to the spot where he had tied his horse to a tree, he vaulted into the saddle, and rode off across the fields,—for he was fearful of encountering the hostile party,—till he reached the Edgeware Road. No surprise, for Melusine was aware no Frenchman in his situation would dream of walking abroad unarmed. I must practise what I preach. Then Courtlaw looked across at her with a white puzzled face.
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