‘But only think, Hilary,’ Lucy protested, evidently too involved in her theory to waste time in scolding. In this state, it will be easy to draw him into a snare. “I thought you wanted to have a talk to me,” she said. The winter had turned sea and sky to a wet gray. “We’re going to be sensible. ’ ‘Never mind the comtesse,’ adjured Prudence. She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside.
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