The road which wound by Westbourne Green, gave him a full view of the hill of Hampstead with its church, its crest of houses, and its villas peeping from out the trees. She must be beautiful, but beauty is only the beginning. Before it is too late. She should leave sooner, but she just could not bear missing the event. ‘Oh, dearie me, I wish I’d never told you anything about it,’ lamented the nun, moving to the only chair the vestry possessed and sinking down into it. ‘We will converse in your own tongue,’ he said in French as he led her away.
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