She was shocked. The open books she knew by heart; aye, they had been ground into her, morning and night. 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 watched, puzzled, as her cavalier frowned at the newcomer, glancing from him to Melusine and back again. There are boats on the lake and shady depths and wildernesses of pine-wood. ‘Suzanne, if I may say, had also not the choice. She munched her bland Whopper as he wolfed three in a row, stuffing his mouth with half a dozen French fries at a time.
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