On their left the river, with its gloomy pile of buildings on the opposite side, and a huge revolving advertisement throwing its strange reflection upon the black water. Concealed among the trees that edged the estate grounds, the watchers paused. It was at the top of the building, and looked clear over a clustering mass of inferior buildings toward Regent’s Park. But you have not finished surely. Passing the old rectory, and still older church, with its reverend screen of trees, and slowly ascending a hill side, from whence he obtained enchanting peeps of the spire and college of Harrow, he reached the cluster of well-built houses which constitute the village of Neasdon. “I fail to see the joke,” Sir John said.
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