The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. ‘For instance, why have you reverted to your nun’s habit for this particular adventure?’ ‘That is easy. ‘And your schooling?’ he pursued. “Good luck! Good luck!” She waved from the window until the bend hid him. It’s a pure joy of giving—giving to YOU. “I would have given up anything to see you your old self again—as you are this evening. “You can count upon me, Nigel,” she said.
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