"Who—who is the Marquis de Chatillon?" "Your adopted son, Thames Darrell," answered Winifred. She could read that Martin had a crush on her and was perhaps even going to try and challenge John as he was the bold sort. The same teardrop bust, the same long waist, the same thick legs. She heard them diving after her, and noted their starting eyes as they spied the opened panel. He sat down on the sill of the open window, folded his arms, and stared straight before him for a long time over the wilderness of tiles and chimney-pots into a sky that was blue and empty.
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