There was no one to be seen. The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. He stood with his hands in his pockets looking at Miss Klegg’s back. That old chap has a remarkable range in reading. “You found the flat easily?” said Capes in the pause. Is it an old ring?” he asked, returning it. Passing the old rectory, and still older church, with its reverend screen of trees, and slowly ascending a hill side, from whence he obtained enchanting peeps of the spire and college of Harrow, he reached the cluster of well-built houses which constitute the village of Neasdon.
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