“There wasn’t. Pragmar, the wholesale druggist, who lived three gardens away, and who had been mowing his lawn to get an appetite for dinner, standing in a fascinated attitude beside the forgotten lawn-mower and watching her intently. Here he was preparing to leap over the hedge into the fields on the left, when he was intercepted by two horsemen, who, hearing the shouts, rode up and struck at him with the butt-ends of their heavy riding-whips. ” Sir John smiled. ‘I—I mean, she were—’ ‘Pretty as a picture?’ suggested Gerald. It had evidently seen better days before being relegated to the ministrations of a hackney coachman, one who evidently served the less affluent inhabitants of London. Each one had been different from the others, each had had a quality all its own, a distinctive freshness, a distinctive beauty. “A sex of blacklegging clients. It was years before your time. . You look like a movie star. They vanished through the doorway. Wood, I forget nothing.
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