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The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. McClintock, without comment, accepted the hand. Ann Veronica ignored her friend’s confusion. So, at least, thought one of two persons who were seated together in a small back-parlour of the house at Dollis Hill. He comforted himself, however, with the certainty which he felt of capturing his prey on the Sunday. And not on Melusine’s account, but to see Prudence, who had no use for a cavalier.
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