It was a clear, lovely, October morning. ’ *** The tapping for which Melusine had been waiting came at last. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. “I think,” began Ann Veronica, “that you don’t realize—” He disregarded her entirely. Glancing at the finger-post over the cage, which has been described as situated at the outskirts of the village, and seeing no directions to Dollis Hill, he made fresh inquiries as to where it lay, from an elderly man, who was standing with another countryman near the little prison. She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home.
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