Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. The young man entered into a lively little war of words with a yellow-haired young person near the door. “You were there, were you?” He laughed a little impatiently. “Lucy, have you noticed that I don’t even own a dog?” He spoke into her hair. Apparently he thought it very much worth while. To-night she had a curious feeling that she stood upon the threshold of some change. From this spot a road, more resembling the drive through a park than a public thoroughfare, led him gradually to the brow of Dollis Hill. " "I, a thief?" "Aye; thief, Roundhead and all.
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