All the turnkeys were assembled. The light of memory flashed in the man’s face. Or had she, like himself, been held up until the fellow returned to town? He waited, his ready humour anticipating her likely reaction. It is dull—deadly dull. ‘It is, you understand, that Monsieur Charvill did not—how do you say in English?—having an eye to an eye—’ ‘Didn’t see eye to eye with the Vicomte Valade? That I can well believe. My business is with Lady Trafford. You see, aunt, it’s the only possible way for me to get a good degree in my subjects, and father won’t hear of it. It did not matter in the least what name the young fellow was travelling under; all James Boyle O'Higgins wanted was the letter H.
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