" "A key!" exclaimed Wood eagerly. He had nothing more to say either to her or to Spurlock. Stanley decided to treat that as irrelevant. 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. “It’s glorious good!” “Suppose now—look at this long snow-slope and then that blue deep beyond —do you see that round pool of color in the ice—a thousand feet or more below? Yes? Well, think—we’ve got to go but ten steps and lie down and put our arms about each other. He was a Wiltshire Edmondshaw, a very old family. Things hung for a moment in an awkward silence. It is no good waiving the thing; it is true. 1 through 1. ” She stopped buttoning her glove, and looked at him.
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