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CHAPTER XV. . You never saw him before yesterday. The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. " "Anything like that?" "Yes; but the colour is lavender. It is a matter of degree. Montague Hill. "Your uncle, Sir Rowland?" "It is no idle boasting," replied the other. “My wife refused absolutely to have anything more to do with me.
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