Occasionally he would lean back and stare at the window which gave upon the sea. “Let us sit down for a moment,” he had said. Then there was Tom Jarrot, the hackney-coachman, who was pitched off the box against yonder curbstone, and broke his leg. You are—or rather you were——” he corrected himself with an unpleasant little laugh, “Miss Pellissier, eh?” A little sensation followed upon his words. Stanley coughed and faced toward the house. Lucy did her best to avoid talking about it, but the subject was beguiling, as it almost always brought news about him from the grapevine within which Michelle was intravenously entwined.
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