He left his companion in the midst of a glowing eulogy of Bastien Leparge, and boldly intercepted his hostess as she moved from one group to join another. “Quite alone, sir. He smiled complacently. "He lives at Dollis Hill, a beautiful spot near Willesden, about four or five miles from town, where he has taken a farm. From a man, who was standing beneath the shade of one these noble trees, information was obtained that the horsemen had ridden along the Harrow Road. His countenance was pale as death, but not a muscle quivered; nor did he betray the slightest appearance of fear. . ’ ‘Don’t be a fool, woman,’ snapped Charvill, thrusting himself further into the room. But her request was unheeded. . "Rot, weren't they?" "No. I mean my cut-offs and boots.
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