His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love. Creeping stealthily up stairs, unmasking a dark lantern, and glancing into each room as he passed, he was startled in one of them by the appearance of Mrs. “On or about the day you receive this letter, Anna, the six months will be up. And to think that man got it all out of the poorest little love-story for a respectable titled lady! Have you read of it?” “Never. 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. Wood caught hold of Jack's leg, and dragged him off the bench.
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