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He leaned back in a low chair, and watched her graceful movements, the play of her white hands as she bent over some wonderful machine. . “Can’t it be altered? “I suppose an actress is free?. . Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. Her long incarceration at the convent in Blaye had taught her to be dismissive of her own appearance. In the evening, a band of village musicians, accompanied by most of the young inhabitants of Willesden, strolled out to Dollis Hill, where they formed a rustic concert under the great elm before the door. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. “I shall not speak,” he said, “now or at any other time.
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