“I have loved you,” he was saying, “ever since you sat on that gate and talked. “Do you think it is fair of you to persecute me just now?” “It is not persecution, Anna,” he answered gently. The road which wound by Westbourne Green, gave him a full view of the hill of Hampstead with its church, its crest of houses, and its villas peeping from out the trees. Why, then, did he touch it? As he climbed heavily into his chair, she was able to note the little beads of sweat under the cracked nether lip. I will arise myself. He returned her to her door at a decent hour, well before 10:00.
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