"I think I may trust him with you, Sir," added she, taking up the candle. A great bowl of scarlet carnations gleamed from a dark corner, set against the background of a deep brown wall. I said, that day at Surbiton, ‘There’s many good things in life, but there’s only one best, and that’s the wild-haired girl who’s pulling away at that oar. 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.
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