The cage at Willesden was, and is—for it is still standing—a small round building about eight feet high, with a pointed tiled roof, to which a number of boards, inscribed with the names of the parish officers, and charged with a multitude of admonitory notices to vagrants and other disorderly persons, are attached. Servants were passing backwards and forwards with tea and chocolate. Then came the great day. He lost control of the machine. " "Except me, dear," insinuated Edgeworth Bess. There was a round table covered, not with the usual “tapestry” cover, but with a plain green cloth that went passably with the wall-paper. I don't think. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous.
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