As she did so, the ruffles to the jacket of her riding habit fell away, exposing livid blue bruises about her wrist, ugly in the light of day from the window at their back. ‘I rather suspect,’ added Prudence, ‘that Major Alderley’s motives were somewhat different. He was bringing the sing-song girl to the hotel! The strange cortège presently vanished below the window-sill. ‘How could you possibly know it?’ ‘I know it,’ Lucilla told him frostily, ‘because Dorothée told me that Madame Valade went off with Gerald positively purring in her ear—which is a thing he never does—and came back with him looking like the cat after cream. Go for it. ‘And your schooling?’ he pursued. .
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