“It isn’t only the dance,” she said. Lucy clasped her hands over her ears as it screamed. She felt as if she had struck them unawares. Immediately beneath her lay Willesden,—the most charming and secluded village in the neighbourhood of the metropolis—with its scattered farm-houses, its noble granges, and its old grey church-tower just peeping above a grove of rook-haunted trees. " "Rot! Mac, what do you suppose the natives used to call her? The Dawn Pearl!" McClintock wagged his Scotch head negatively. ‘So now you will please to go away and leave me to my business.
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