The road which wound by Westbourne Green, gave him a full view of the hill of Hampstead with its church, its crest of houses, and its villas peeping from out the trees. The windows of these rooms were obscured with draperies, their floors a carpet patchwork; the china ornaments on their mantels were of a class apart. “To-night we are as we have always been. She could still remember his face, the perpetually wet lips that turned down at the sides, his drooping Roman eyes. Peste, where was her handkerchief? She remembered then that it had been lost in the struggle with Gerald.
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