He leaned towards her, laid his hand tenderly upon hers. “You are afraid,” she said, “that the young man who thinks that he is my husband has upset me. Inexplicably there flashed into vision the Chinese wedding procession in the narrow, twisted streets of the city, that first day: the gorgeous palanquin, the tomtoms, the weird music, the ribald, jeering mob that trailed along behind. Lucy saw that perhaps she had been attracted to Martin all along. He resented being regarded as irregular. Immediately beneath her lay Willesden,—the most charming and secluded village in the neighbourhood of the metropolis—with its scattered farm-houses, its noble granges, and its old grey church-tower just peeping above a grove of rook-haunted trees. " "Farewell, Jack," cried twenty voices.
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