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. “You cowards!” said Ann Veronica, “put her down!” and tore herself from a detaining hand and battered with her fists upon the big red ear and blue shoulder of the policeman who held the little old lady. It is the old story of a Westerner meddling with an Eastern custom. A man might be without relatives, but certainly he would not be without friends, that is to say, without letters. “I am very glad that you have come here. ’ Gerald laughed. Before you have lived—” He became darkly prophetic.
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