“Dear friend,” she said, “this is a matter which you must leave to me to do as I think best. ’ ‘That has put “only Gerald” very firmly in his place,’ mourned Gerald. The glass in the windows was broken—the roof unthatched—the walls dilapidated. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations. 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. “I really owe him something of an apology.
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