"That's for myself," rejoined Mrs. The young man was mollified by her sympathy, and flattered by the obvious attempts of several of the other guests to draw him into conversation. “I should imagine,” he said, shaking out a copy of The Times, “that it is your brain which is addled. She lunched at a creamery in Great Portland Street, and as the day was full of wintry sunshine, spent the rest of the lunch-hour in a drowsy gloom, which she imagined to be thought upon the problems of her position, on a seat in Regent’s Park. ” “Sorry. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn.
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