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. “These clothes are French, and I’m sure this floppy bow would make a Frenchman of me anyhow. He was chained to the ground, but started up at their approach. Gerald was conscious of that sliver of irritation again at mention of the name. “You are absurd,” she declared. 132 “I thought you wanted me—you told me so when we kissed in the park!” He cried.
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