” She could not go on, for she was laughing and crying at the same time. “But I still think of my old foster brothers and sisters. The girl is in it as deeply as he is. 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. In the meanwhile, as he talked, he scrutinized her face, ran his eyes over her careless, gracious poise, wondered hard about her. His lawful wife; but nothing more; beyond that she was only an idea, a trust. To have written a short story in a week was rather a remarkable feat. ‘Until today.
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