The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. So, very carefully, he raised her in his arms and carried her to her bed. Silken open robes over full tiffany petticoats in a contrasting colour were, Lucy assured him, of the very latest Parisian design, cut by the finest French tailors. I find it impossible to associate you with—my little friend of the ‘Ambassador’s. By this time, the procession had reached the west end of the wall of St. 8 or 1.
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