" "Oh Heavens!" cried Jack, driven to his wits' end. "Amazement!" cried Wild. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. “I am so very, very sorry. “It—it—must come,” she faltered. That day Gerald had brought her to this excessively careful house, where she had felt very much alone and very unlike herself. Paris looms behind—a tragedy of strange recollections—here she emerges Phœnix-like, subtly developed, a flawless woman, beautiful, self-reliant, witty, a woman with the strange gift of making all others beside her seem plain or vulgar. " "How does Jack bear it?" inquired Mrs. I cannot explain beyond that.
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