It did seem in so many ways exactly what Ramage said it was—the sensible thing to do. “Will you tell Sydney that I will see him in the morning,” he said. “You will be so late. 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. (“Good job. ’ ‘Sport!’ grumbled her betrothed, but he accompanied them across the ballroom all the same. ” “I didn’t mind that little argument. Do you understand?’ ‘Aye, sir.
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