’ ‘Why must you?’ asked Gerald calmly. 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. The farmer was a widow who was slightly famous around town for his prize cows and slightly more famous for his good looks. But all these hours, trying to teach the child wariness toward life, and the moment his back was turned, this! He was, perhaps, still dazed by the inner revelation—his own interest in Ruth. “No,” she said, under her breath, “you can’t face it.
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