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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. Sheppard was enabled to take possession of the premises. Beyond was an avenue of tall poplars that rose like columns, disappearing into undulating hills that were black with sleeping houses and fertile soil. He then spoke with a certain fatherly kindliness of the past. On her lapel was an ivory button, bearing the words “Votes for Women.

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