“Mr. She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. But when she turned her thoughts to Morningside Park she perceived the tangled skein of life was now to be further complicated by his romantic importunity. I just wanted a breath of air. Meanwhile, the clergyman, bare-headed and in his surplice, advanced to meet them. She was wearing a becoming tea-gown, and it was quite certain that Sir John would not be home for several hours at least. But if he's in bed, how the devil is he going with me, supposing I decide to hire him? The mudhook comes up to-morrow night. The great gray boles of the palms reminded him of some fabulous Grecian temple.
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