Who walked you home?\" Mike asked her, his voice tinged with jealousy, as she passed the garlic bread. “I am so sorry to have startled you,” she said, “but I was startled myself. The lace was family lace, easily recognizable. He leaned forward to embrace her. Or, if this goodlooking young fellow will only say the word, I'll go with him. He removed his cockaded hat, putting it down between them as he sat at the other end, placing himself at an angle and, crossing his legs, leaned back at his ease, his eyes fixed on her face. 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. She felt surges of longing escape every corner of her flesh. I cannot answer that question.
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