If the Wastrel had not turned the instant he did, the ball would have missed him; as it was he turned directly into its path. Before he could draw in the rein, his steed—startled apparently by some object undistinguishable by the rider,—swerved with such suddenness as to unseat him, and precipitate him on the ground. It remains a bizarre idea to me that Lucy Alberti could ever become so detailed or so real, but I’m certainly glad to have made her acquaintance. Immediately beneath her lay Willesden,—the most charming and secluded village in the neighbourhood of the metropolis—with its scattered farm-houses, its noble granges, and its old grey church-tower just peeping above a grove of rook-haunted trees. “You cannot say that you did not expect me,” he answered. “I do hope I have been able to make you understand how I feel, that you don’t consider me a hopeless prig. A wife formed part of his scheme of life, for several years he had been secretly but assiduously looking for her. She pulled her hand away quickly.
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