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Behind her stood Caliban, chuckling to himself, and grinning from ear to ear. To be confronted with the girl’s damned Frenchman of a husband was another matter altogether. ‘And, if this was not enough,’ went on the lady furiously, ‘you dare to say I am French. We are alone, Sir Rowland," he added, snuffing the candles, glancing cautiously around, and lowering his tone, "and what you confide to me shall never transpire,—at least to your disadvantage. They had been informally introduced during floor hockey, when Katy had sent a puck flying into Lucy’s face.
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