A sophisticated woman would have translated the tone as a caress. She was saying good-bye to childhood and home, and her making; she was going out into the great, multitudinous world; this time there would be no returning. ‘Oh, you may come to me on any mission you like,’ uttered Mrs Sindlesham roguishly. “This wonderful affection of yours for my sister, does it date from your first meeting with her in Paris?” He hesitated. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. Joan told me it was hung somewhere in the house, only I couldn’t remember where after all this time.
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