“It is so difficult,” she murmured, “so impossible to explain. “What do we want? What is the goal?” asked Ann Veronica. 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. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. The latter gentleman did full justice to the good things before him; but he drank sparingly, and was visibly annoyed by his companion's intemperance. Old Kesterton, choleric-looking individual nearly opposite, will curse the cooking till he’s black in the face, but he never misses a dinner. "Now—begin.
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