Chapter Two ‘Our French friends are beginning to form quite a little coterie,’ remarked Gerald, covertly studying the group gathered in an alcove at the other side of Lady Bicknacre’s ballroom. They joined the rabble of aspiring James Deans in torn jeans and bomber jackets and girls with Clairol black hair smoking clove cigarettes. And immeasurable was the calm evolved from this knowledge. A swift frown brought the still dark brows together for a moment. "What's your name?" he said, addressing the audacious lad, who was looking about him as coolly as if nothing material was going on.
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