I shook my head.
“And I came to Bath expecting a dull time! How soon may I call to pay proper addresses to your elders?”
“Next week, if you like.”
“Next week! Why not today?”
His voice was vibrant and his eagle’s face betrayed no subterfuge. He had a way of turning his head on his neck as he talked, most strangely eagle-like. I was fascinated by him and proud to be walking with him, but my deeper feelings toward him were confused. Perhaps because I kept remembering the flushed, sensitive face of Rene Saint-Denis—his name, too, was firmly fixed in my mind—I seemed to sense danger. I was not frightened of it, but there was a dim, troubling presentiment deep in my mind that I should be.
Certainly he was immensely distinguished and perhaps an aristocrat of a type rarely seen in England, w
