‘He can’t be Valade, that’s certain,’ mused Gerald, unheeding. Beyond was an avenue of tall poplars that rose like columns, disappearing into undulating hills that were black with sleeping houses and fertile soil. At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. “In any case you will never receive any different sort of answer from me. I have counted you, and always hoped to count you, the best of my friends. “Another young woman, I suppose,” he said, “who knows better than her Maker about her place in the world. “Do you know him?” Lucy replied, “No, I haven’t met him. Leastways, she’d be your greataunt, wouldn’t she?’ Astounded, Melusine was just about to demand further information, when a commotion outside the room interrupted her. He lives near the Black Lion.
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