Arrived at Westbourne-Green—then nothing more than a common covered with gorse and furzebushes, and boasting only a couple of cottages and an alehouse—he perceived through the hedges the objects of his search slowly ascending the gentle hill that rises from KensallGreen. “Want to see Mr. ‘Marry an Englishman! Which Englishman?’ Melusine shrugged. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. If you live, well and good; if you die, well and good. ‘Can’t you trust me a little?’ His touch sent shivers running through her, but Melusine did not withdraw her hand.
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