"You can no longer refuse to tell me the name of this youth's father, Aliva," he said. And if the woman is not a rival, she must be—yes, that must be it. A middle-aged countrywoman, plump of cheek, and a little shy. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. Wood was unable to discover the figure of the widow, but he recognised her dry, hacking cough, and was about to call her down, if she could not find the key, as he imagined must be the case, when a loud noise was heard, as though a chest, or some weighty substance, had fallen upon the floor. Many little things had contributed to that decision. ’ To Gerald’s chagrin, Melusine regarded Hilary with approval. A woman may choose any one for her lover, but for her friend she makes no mistake.
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