A woman may choose any one for her lover, but for her friend she makes no mistake. ‘Yes, like you,’ she snapped, with a venomous glance, her role evidently forgotten for the moment. It was bare of any furnishings. 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. With a swirl of her floral chintz petticoats, she placed herself in the capacious window seat, accepted the glass Gerald handed to her, and smiled mischievously up at him.
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