He dined, and then pleaded a political engagement. 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. To perdition with them all. She plucked at the knots of her racket and heard him to the end, then spoke in a restrained undertone. And Lady Trafford having been carried down stairs, and placed within it, the postboy drove off, at a rapid pace for Barnet. He flung open the door and cast a quick glance round.
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