A new inexplicable madness that urged him to shrill ironically the story of his coat—to take it off and fling it at the feet of any stranger who chanced to be nigh. Passing the old rectory, and still older church, with its reverend screen of trees, and slowly ascending a hill side, from whence he obtained enchanting peeps of the spire and college of Harrow, he reached the cluster of well-built houses which constitute the village of Neasdon. Meantime the spinsters sought the dining room where tea was being served. Why ain’t you gorn? Seems to me I had ought to arrest you. He resumed his listening. She emerged with a white face and wide-open eyes upon a little, red-lit landing.
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