\" He said to her after he bought his own ticket. He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. "You are a paragon of prudence and discretion," rejoined the woollen-draper, drawing his chair closer to hers. “My name is certainly Pellissier,” she said, “but I am very sorry—I do not recognize you in the least. You know not what a wretched guilty thing I am.
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