"Ruth!" She had gone to the door, aimlessly, without purpose. . What was the fellow doing in this part of the town? Had not Lady Bicknacre said he was living at Paddington? The Frenchman, booted and neat in buckskin breeches and a plain frockcoat, a flat-brimmed hat on his head, paused a moment at an intersection with one of the roads leading north, apparently seeking a street sign. So is the chapel of All Souls at Oxford, and the great hall at Blenheim, and I don't know how many halls and chapels besides. I'll tell you what. Single pearls— Lord knows where they come from!—are always turning up, some of them of fine lustre; but I never set eyes on them. But women—women as a rule don’t throw themselves into things like that. She was chic, distinguished, unusual.
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