“It’s the spring,” he said. She laughed as the deluge seemed to grow worse with every step. If you had not brought your companion here, it would not have happened. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. The galleries adjoining it were crowded with spectators,—so was the roof of a large tavern, then the only house standing at the end of the Edgeware Road,—so were the trees,—the walls of Hyde Park,—a neighbouring barn, a shed,—in short, every available position. . I thought I’d see Paris, do the thing—like a toff.
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