I have always understood that men avoid like the plague a woman with a sense of humour. ‘A spitfire, ain’t she, sir?’ Roding ignored this. ’ ‘Dieu du ciel,’ burst from mademoiselle as she jumped up. There was a coffee equipage on the table, and some sandwiches, and the fire had been recently made up. Her nerves were shattered, her senses dazed by this unexpected shock. Together they made their painful way to the door, not even checking, in the effort this cost both, on what Gosse might be doing. She had been in the drawing-room for a few minutes before the gong had sounded, and had chattered gaily to every one. They would arrest him for the French spy they had thought her at first. He beheld a tall gaunt man, his brown face corrugated like a winter's road, grim, stony.
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