’ With satisfaction, Gerald noted that her voice was hopelessly unsteady and drove home his advantage. It was an awful moment—so awful, that every other feeling except deep interest in the scene seemed suspended. 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. Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms. “I meant it. ” “But what did father imagine?” “Of course he imagined! Any one would! ‘What has happened, Peter?’ I asked. It was a bizarre sight, a miniature manor, replicated fully, walled in gray limestone.
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