‘Parbleu,’ came indignantly from the lady. Brendon made a quick movement forward. ‘Thought you were going to break in here,’ he said, in an impatient whisper. 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. You have spoken her name, I think, Marthe. I felt his heart. Mr. Anna went out. The youth of them! And what was he going to do when they left his island? What would Donald McClintock be doing with himself, when youth left the island, never more to return? Ruth was thrilling with joy. I thought I’d see Paris, do the thing—like a toff.
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