He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. “You yourself have decided that—apart from the question of Annabel. 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. It makes no difference. It felt wonderful and golden to bask in the sunlight of their approval, even if their approval was fickle and dangerous. His face turned a dark crimson.
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