The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. Believe me, it will be better by far that you should consent to marry me. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. Smith obeyed. Rather would I have gone with Leonardo—and he wished me to do so. “It was fine and brave of you.
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