“Hotel Ritz,” he said mechanically to the coachman. He had promised her some books, for she had voiced her hunger for stories. One swift glance about the room, and a sensation of grim foreboding swept through him. ‘And I suppose I shall be obliged to endure another nonsensical tale about your husband. Supper was over. I had not been near the Royal Society since—since you disgraced me. It had evidently seen better days before being relegated to the ministrations of a hackney coachman, one who evidently served the less affluent inhabitants of London. “You, too,” he said abruptly. Ennison,” she said. Here they remained till midnight when, calling for their reckoning and their steeds, they left the house. “Then what did you do?” Lucy’s eyes leveled with her.
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