“I can’t imagine, Miss Pellissier,” Brendon said, leaning towards her, “whatever made you think of coming to stay if only for a week at a Montague Street boarding-house. She donned her gloves. Or mad, just as the captain had said so many times. “These clothes are French, and I’m sure this floppy bow would make a Frenchman of me anyhow. His hat was placed upon one pole, his wig on another. She had now the clear and tranquil expression of one whose mind is made up. He could have easily forced it, but preferred a more expeditious mode of reaching the roof which suggested itself to him.
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