"My head fairly turns round. "To—to—no matter what," returned the widow distractedly. For awhile he watched the revolving light on Copeley's. She also knew that he was the type who would not make a single physical overture until she pushed the correct buttons. There was first the Avenue, which ran in a consciously elegant curve from the railway station into an undeveloped wilderness of agriculture, with big, yellow brick villas on either side, and then there was the pavement, the little clump of shops about the postoffice, and under the railway arch was a congestion of workmen’s dwellings. “Does he live here?” he asked her presently.
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