He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. “They seem smaller, you know, even physically smaller,” she said. All concerned in the dark transaction must have perished. ” He took his place by her side, and they talked lightly of London, the shops and people. In a side-glance—for the floor was variously encumbered with overturned objects—he saw one of his paper weights, a coloured glass ball such as McClintock used in trade. “You are neither of you in the least like the ordinary boarding-house young man. I think we rest here until to-morrow?” There was a brief silence. Already she knew that she was overstaying her welcome. And, decently as he could, McClintock was giving the man the boot. Next moment, he had Melusine by the arm. “Shut up, you little faggot.
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